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BERTHA: 


THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 


^tr  fistorical  ^nk  of  t^t  @leknl|j  Ceittorg. 


By  W.  B.  MACCABE. 


BOSTON: 

A.  MOOKE  &  BROS.,  2  CITY  HALL  AVENUE. 
185  6. 


Mini- 


BERTHA; 


THE   POPE   AND   THE   EMPEROK. 


CHAPTEE    I. 

THE  RENCONTRE. 


For  a  few  moments  the  silvery  tone  of  tinkling  bells 
was  heard,  and  the  atmosphere  around  appeared  to  have 
been  aroused  from  its  peaceful  stillness  by  the  murmiu'ed 
accents  of  commingled  prayers. 

The  bells  ceased  —  the  words  of  prayer  were  heard 
no  more,  and  the  solemn  silence  and  the  calm  repose, 
which  had  before  rested  on  the  green  banks  and  the 
smooth  waters  of  the  small  river  Aschaff,  descended 
upon  them  anew  as  the  maiden  Beatrice  sank  back  upon, 
the  silken  cushions  on  which  she  had  previously  been 
reclining,  and  again  cast  from  her  hands,  from  time  to 
time,  a  wild  flower,  and  watched  it,  as  the  little  rippling 
waves  floated  it  slowly,  and  seemingly  sadly,  away  from 
her  sight. 

"Lady!  — Beatrice!  dost  thou  not  hear  me?  The 
Ave-Maria  bell  of  evening  has  rung  ;  and  it  is  time  that 
we  returned  to  the  castle.     Wherefore   dost   thou   so 

(11) 


12         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

intently,  and  yet  so  idly,  watch  those  flowers,  as  they  are 
borne  from  thee  ?  " 

*'  I  am  thinking,"  said  she,  who  had  been  addressed 
as  Beatrice,  "  I  am  thinking,  my  good  Agatha,  that  I  am 
myself  like  to  those  wild  flowers.  Like  them,  I  know 
not  why,  God  has  been  pleased  to  place  me  in  the  midst 
of  these  deep  forests,  and  upon  the  banks  of  this  river. 
Like  them,  I  am  unknown  and  disregarded  —  like  them, 
I  am  of  no  use  or  benefit  to  my  fellow-creatures  —  and, 
if  some  rude  hand  should  sever  me,  as  I  do  them,  from 
this  solitude,  and  cast  me  upon  the  waters,  I  know  not 
what  may  befall  me  —  I  may  wither  away  in  the  glare 
of  the  sunshine,  or  be  overwhelmed  by  the  rude  tempest, 
or  I  may  be  cast  upon  some  unknown  shore,  where 
nought  grows  but  poisonous  plants  and  foul  weeds,  and 
there  expire,  a  poor  and  noisome  thing  in  the  sight  of 
God  and  man.  These  are  my  thoughts,  Agatha,  —  am  I 
right  in  giving  way  to  them  ? " 

"  Thou  art  not,  Beatrice,"  said  Agatha, "  for  thou  dost 
not  reason  truly.  These  flowers,  insensible  as  they  are, 
perform  strictly  the  functions  for  which  they  were  formed. 
They  beautify  and  enrich  the  soil  from  which  they 
spring,  and  the  skill  of  man  can  extract  medicinal 
powers  from  them.  In  death  as  in  life  they  have  their 
uses.  Thou  art  not  like  the  flowers ;  for  they  live  but 
for  a  day,  and  then  fade  and  perish,  whilst  thou,  if  thou 
faithfully  fulfil  the  duties  which  God  has  assigned  thee, 
shalt  bloom  in  immortal  glory  in  the  garden  of  heaven. 
Thou  hast  compared  thyself  to  a  fiiding  flower  clothed 
but  with  an  evanescent  beauty.  Let  the  waters  on  which 
thou  hast  cast  them  be  thy  monitor.  Our  several  duties 
in  this  life  may  be  compared  to  the  stream  of  the  smooth 
Aschafl'  itself,  now  flowing  through  wild  and  beauteous 


THE  RENCONTRE.  13 

scenery,  tlicn  through  sweet  and  smiling  lands ;  now 
forcing  its  way  over  rugged  rocks,  and  then  down  awful 
precipices,  but  still  persevering,  still  resolute,  still  onward 
in  its  course,  until  at  last  it  finds  its  repose  and  its  re- 
ward in  the  Ocean-eternity  of  Divine  Love,  of  which  it 
then  forms  a  part,  and  from  which  it  is  no  longer  dis- 
tinguishable, but  is  all  in  all  and  one  with  God  himself. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  waters  that  are  turned  away  from 
the  stream,  are  but  too  often  like  to  those  faculties  which 
we  devote  to  temporal  uses  —  they  are  stained  with  pas- 
sions, and  begrimed  with  the  filth  of  pride,  and  become 
a  stagnant  pool,  from  which  emanate  pestilence,  disease, 
and  death.  But  come  —  I  repeat  to  thee,  the  Ave-Maria 
has  rung.  It  is  evening  time,  and  we  should  now  be  on 
our  way  back  to  the  castle."  « 

Beatrice  smiled  —  there  was  a  calm  and  gentle  melan- 
choly in  the  smile  —  and  then  she  said,  — 

"  Look  at  me,  Agatha,  and  tell  me,  if  you  can,  what 
is  at  this  moment  occupying,  not  alone  my  thoughts, 
but  my  heart." 

Agatha  did  look,  and  beheld  before  her  one  of  the 
fairest  faces  and  most  faultless  forms  that  ever  yet  pro- 
voked the  admiration  of  mankind.  Beatrice  was  now 
fast  verging  on  her  seventeenth  year ;  her  skin  was  of 
dazzling  whiteness,  except  where  a  slight  sufiusion 
tinged,  without  actually  giving  a  distinct  color  to  the 
cheeks,  and  it  came  in  strong  contrast  with  the  ripe  and 
cherry  redness  of  the  lips,  and  still  stronger  with  the 
full,  large,  dark  eyes,  and  darker  eyebrows,  in  both  of 
which  might  be  said  to  be  placed  that  intellectuality  of 
expression,  and  that  spirit  of  character,  which  otherwise 
were  not  impressed  upon  her  small,  delicate,  and  femi- 
nine features ;  whilst  the  neck  was  concealed,  and  the 


14  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

shoulders  were  covered,  by  flowing  masses  of  silken, 
light-brown  hair,  of  a  hue  so  indistinct,  that  when  the 
rays  of  the  sun  shone  upon  it,  they  seemed  to  be  con- 
verted into  threads  of  burnished  gold :  the  tiny  foot  that 
peeped  forth  from  the  loose  robe,  and  the  small  hand 
that  found  its  way  out  of  the  ample  sleeve,  testified 
as  to  the  exquisite  proportions  of  a  form  which  the 
dresses  of  the  period  disguised,  but  in  this  case  could 
not  conceal. 

"  Look  at  me,  Agatha,"  said  the  fair  and  gentle  girl 
to  her  faithful  and  aged  attendant,  "  and  tell  me,  if  you 
can,  what  is  at  this  moment  most  occupying  my  heart." 

*'  Thou  art  thinking  that  in  a  few  weeks  thou  wilt  be 
seventeen,  and  thou  art  hoping  that  with  its  arrival  may 
come  a  cessation  to  that  solitude  in  which  thou  hast  so 
long  pined." 

"  Alas !  no  —  my  heart  is  not  sad,  because  a  gentle 
mother  greets  me  with  an  ever-enduring  smile  —  I  am 
not  sad,  because  I  can  walk  daily  in  these  gloomy  forests 
and  wild  glens  —  I  am  not  sad,  because  I  can  repose 
for  hours  and  hours  together  on  the  banks  of  the  gentle 
Aschaff — I  am  not  sad,  because  I  can  bestow  as  many 
gifts  as  I  please  upon  the  hard-working  and  faithful  serfs 
—  I  am  not  sad,  because  I  can  make  the  heart  of  many 
a  poor  slave  joyful  and  happy  —  I  am  not  sad,  because 
I  have  you,  my  ever-true,  and  ever-fond,  and  ever-faith- 
ful Agatha,  at  all  hours  by  my  side.  All  these  are 
matters  in  which  I  should  rejoice,  are  benefits  for  which 
I  should  be  thankful,  and  for  the  continuance  of  which 
I  ought  to  pray.  But  young  as  I  am,  Agatha,  I  am  not 
without  knowledge  —  for  you  have  been  my  teacher, 
and  kindly  nuns  have  been  amongst  my  instructors  — 
and  with  that  knowledge  I  am  sad  —  very  sad,  dearest 


THE  RENCONTEE.  15 

Agatha  —  for  I  see  that  my  life  is  a  mystery  —  that  I 
am  surrounded  with  a  state,  that  should  not  be  mine, 
unless  I  were  the  daughter  of  a  duke ;  with  boundless 
riches  that  I  could  not  possess  unless  I  were  the  daugh- 
ter of  a  count ;  and  still  with  as  much  watchfulness  be- 
stowed upon,  and  as  many  guards  surrounding  me,  as  if 
I  were  the  daughter  of  the  emperor  himself:  and  yet, 
I  know,  and  I  see  —  nay,  what  is  more  —  I  feel  that 
my  father  is  none  of  these.  He  comes  here  always  un- 
expectedly ;  he  leaves,  without  ever  bidding  us  —  at 
least  me  —  farewell ;  he  wears  not  the  garb  of  a  knight, 
nor  does  he  even  bear  the  shield  of  a  freeman ;  there 
is  about  him,  or  around  him,  no  emblem  of  authority. 
That  he  cannot  be  a  serf,  his  riches  show  ;  that  he  must 
be  a  man  in  some  way  illustrious,  his  look,  his  manners, 
his  very  bearing  plainly  indicate.  I  love  him,  because 
I  am  told  he  is  my  father  ;  but  that  he  loves  me,  I 
doubt ;  for  I  never  yet  caught  his  eye  fixed  upon  me, 
that  there  was  not  mingled  in  his  glance,  far  more  of 
.sadness  than  of  affection.  These  are  the  things  that 
occupy  my  heart  —  therefore  am  I  sad ;  but  can  you, 
dear  Agatha,  say  aught  that  may  aid  me  in  unravelling 
this  mystery  ? " 

The  attendant  hemmed  audibly,  and  coughed  hysteri- 
cally two  or  three  times  whilst  the  maiden  was  thus  ad- 
dressing her ;  and,  instead  of  answering  the  interroga- 
tory thus  put  directly  to  her,  she  sought  to  envade  it  by 
putting  another  question :  — 

"  But  tell  me  frankly,  Beatrice  —  is  there  no  other 
thing  occupying  your  heart  but  what  you  have  now 
said  ?  Does  not  your  heart,  or  your  memory,  ever  carry 
you  back  to  other  times  and  other  persons  ?  " 

"  O,  yes,"  replied  Beatrice,  with  a  face  now  flushed 


16  THE  POrE  AND   THE  EMPEROE. 

■with  pleasure,  and  an  eye  brilliant  with  animation ;  "  I 
do  think  —  often  think  —  0,  how  often !  —  of  another 
sky,  another  land,  and  another  clime  than  this  —  of  a 
land  which  you  have  told  me  is  the  land  of  my  birth 

—  the  ever-lovely,  sweetly-smiling  Italy.  It  may  be  a 
child's  fancy,  but  to  me  it  seems  as  if  such  a  land  could 
alone  be  seen  in  a  dream.  I  think  of  it  —  and  I  am 
back  again  upon  the  borders  of  the  Lago  Maggiore  — 
and  there  I  see  upon  the  shore  the  clustering  vines  — 
the  rose- emboM^ered  cottages  —  the  green  woods  and  the 
greener-leaved  forests  —  and,  upon  the  pellucid  waters 
of  the  blue  lake,  reflecting  back  a  still  more  purely  blue 
sky,  I  see  the  light  boats,  and  hear  the  joyful  songs  of 
happy  fishermen  ;  whilst  far  away  in  the  lake  I  behold 
an  island  which  is  all  one  flower  garden,  whilst  above  it 
rise  terrace  over  terrace,  palaces  of  snow-white  marble 

—  and  all  these  I  see  again  in  my  dream,  or  my  memory 
shows  them  as  they  appeared  to  me  when  a  child  ;  and 
then,  too,  I  do  think  of  one,  for  whom  all  these  things 
seemed  to  have  been  made ;  but  when  I  saw  him  I  can- 
not now  remember,  whether  on  the  land,  or  on  the 
island,  but  in  the  midst  of  them  I  certainly  did  see 
/ti'm." 

"  And  who  is  lie  of  whom  thou  speakest  ?  Dost  thou 
recollect  his  name  ?  " 

"  I  remember  some  one  —  a  boy,  with  light  blue  eyes, 
and  flaxen  hair,  and  the  heavenly  smile  of  those  young 
and  innocent  cherubs  that  are  portrayed  in  my  mother's 
grand  psalter  as  fluttering  around  the  head  of  the  Virgin. 
I  remember  him,  and  the  thoughts  of  him  are  as  dear 
to  my  heart  as  the  thrilling  strains  of  the  nightingale, 
that  fill,  when  all  else  is  silent,  the  whole  creation  with 
melody.     O,  yes,  I  do  think  of  him." 


THE  RENCONTRE.  17 

^'  And  dost  thou  not  recollect  his  name  ?  " 

*'  I  do." 

"Whatisit?". 

"  Alas  !  I  know  but  too  -well  why  I  hesitate  to  speak 
it  aloud.     It  was  Magnus." 

"  Magnus  —  Magnus  !  "  repeated  Agatha,  in  a  far 
louder  tone  than  her  mistress  had  originally  pronounced 
the  word  ;  and  as  if  taken  completely  by  siu'prise  at  its 
utterance. 

"  Who  calls  on  Magnm  1 "  exclaimed  a  young  man, 
apparently  about  twenty  years  of  age,  bounding  from  a 
boat  upon  the  bank,  and  motioning  to  his  foUr  attendant 
rowers,  as  he  did  so,  to  push  on  to  a  creek  at  a  few  yards* 
distance. 

"  Who  calls  on  Magnus  ? "  he  repeated,  in  a  higher 
tone,  as  the  thick-growing  trees  prevented  him  for  a 
moment  from  perceiving  Beatrice  and  her  attendant. 

The  tones  of  his  well-known,  long-remembered  voice 
were  at  once  recognized,  and  Beatrice  stepped  forward, 
saying,  — 

"  I  call  upon  Magnus  —  if  it  be  the  Magnus  I  knew 
when  he  was  a  boy." 

^Magnus  and  Beatrice  stood  face  to  face  with  each 
other. 

"  Beatrice  !  "  he  said. 

"  Magnus  ! "  was  the  only  word  she  spoke. 

They  looked  upon,  but  they  could  no  longer  recognize 

each  other :  the  girl  had  become  a  woman  ;  the  boy  had 

grown  into  a  man.     Her  that  he  had  rushed  forward  to 

kiss,  he  now  feared  to  approach ;    him    that    she    had 

hastened  to  meet,  and  with  the    intention    to  cast  her 

arms  around  his  neck,  she  now  looked  upon  but  for  an 

instant,  and  then   trembling  cast   her   eyes  upon  the 
o  * 


18  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROE. 

ground.  He  beheld  before  him  a  woinan  of  more  sur 
passing  loveliness  than  he  had  ever  fancied  could  be  dis- 
covered in  his  boyish  dreams  ;  and  she  found  placed 
before  her,  in  the  person  of  Magnus,  all  the  graces 
of  juvenile  beauty,  combined  with  the  commanding 
stature,  the  strength,  the  dignity,  and  the  majesty  of 
manhood. 

*'  Alas ! "  said  Beatrice,  for  she  was  the  first  to  speak, 
although  she  had  not  dared  to  look  a  second  time  at 
him,  "we  are  both  greatly  changed." 

"Yes  —  Beatrice,"  he  said,, his  gaze  still  fixed  upon 
her,  and  seeing  nought  else  in  the  world  beside.  "  Yes, 
Beatrice,  we  are  both  changed  ;  1  for  the  worse,  or  you 
would  not  keep  your  eyes  thus  turned  away  from  me  ; 
and  you  —  O,  how  much  you  are  changed  —  I  have 
always  thought  of  you  as  an  angel ;  but  now  —  I  could 
kneel  down  and  worship  you." 

**I  pray  your  pardon,  my  lord,"  said  Agatha,  here 
stepping  between  the  youthful  pair,  "  I  am  the  attend- 
ant—  or,  as  she  in  her  goodness  calls  me,  the  friend  — 
of  the  Lady  Beatrice.  From  her  I  never  heard  your 
name  before.  Neither  has  her  mother  ever  spoken  of 
you  to  me.  The  language  you  have  now  addressed  to 
the  Lady  Beatrice  should  not  be  spoken  to  her,  but  with 
the  permission  of  her  parents.  I  cannot  invite  you  to 
their  castle  ;  but  you  know  yourself  if  you  would  be 
welcome  there.  If  you  would,  it  is  there  and  not  in 
this  wild  wood  you  should  see  the  Lady  Beatrice  ;  if 
you  would  not,  then  the  words  you  could  not  speak  to 
her  there,  you  should  not  give  utterance  to  her  here, 
where  there  are  none  to  protect  her,  but  an  aged  attend- 
ant like  myself,  and  a  few  armed  serfs  that  wait  for  us, 
in  the  adjoining  valley." 


THE  RENCONTEE.  19 

These  worcls  were  apparently  addressed  by  Agatha  to 
Magnus ;  but  were  really  intended  as  a  guidance  to 
Beatrice  for  the  conduct  that  should  be  adopted  by  her 
on  this  occasion  ;  but  Agatha  perceived  that  her  ad- 
monition was  poured  into  the  ears  of  a  man  who  was  as 
if  deaf.  All  the  faculties  of  Magnus  seemed  to  be  ab- 
sorbed in  the  contemplation  of  Beatrice ;  he  gazed  as  if 
sight  coukl  never  fail  in  looking  vipon  her,  and  he  ap- 
peared to  wait  until  she  woukl  speak,  in  order  that  his 
hearing  might  so  be  restored  to  him. 

"  You  say  now,  as  you  always  speak,"  observed  Bea- 
trice, "  jnstly  and  wisely,  kind  Agatha.  It  is  in  my 
father's  hall  that  Magnus  should  be  received  :  it  is  there 
that  seneschal,  and  groom,  and  page  should  wait  upon 
him.     Come,  Magnus." 

"  I  go,  beloved  Beatrice  —  dream  of  my  boyhood  — 
Beatrice  —  I  go  wherever  you  desire,"  stammered  forth 
Magnus. 

"  Come  —  come  quickly  —  dear  INIagnus,"  answered 
Beatrice,  now  looking  up  in  the  face  of  her  youthful 
friend,  and  a  single,  glowing  glance  of  love,  repaying 
him  a  thousand-fold  for  the  tender  expressions  he  had 
used.  "  Come,  my  mother  will  be  so  happy  to  see  you 
grown  so  tall,  and  so  brave-looking,  and  so  —  so  —  much 
darker  than  you  were  when  a  boy  ;  for  I  remember  often 
speaking  of  you  to  my  mother,  and  once  to  my  father 
—  and  —  ah  !  woe  is  me  !  Why  have  I  mentioned 
his  name  ?  or  why  thought  of  these  doleful  circum- 
stances   " 

"And  wherefore  not  ?  "Why  stop,  dearest  Beatrice  ?  " 
inquired  Magnus,  observing  her  pause  in  her  hasty  and 
onward  career. 

"Alas !    Magnus,    I   remember   upon  one   occasion. 


20  THE   POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

speaking  to  my  father,  and  telling  him  of  my  infantile 
dreams  respecting  the  Lago  Maggiore,  and  then  speak- 
ing to  him  about  you,  and  how  much  I  then  loved  you, 
and  I  remember  his  then  questioning  my  mother  about 
■who  might  be  this  Magnus,  that  I  praised  so  much,  and 
of  her  telling  him  who  you  were  ;  but  I  know  not  what 
she  said " 

"  I,"  remarked  the  young  man,  firmly,  but  still  in  no 
haughty  spirit,  and  with  no  boastful  manner,  "  I  am  no 
poor  tungin  in  a  district,  nor  a  mere  graf  in  a  county. 
I  am  of  an  ancient  race.  I  am  INIagnus,  Duke  of  Sax- 
ony." 

"  To  me,"  hastily  observed  Beatrice,  "  you  are  not 
timgin,  graf,  nor  duke  ;  you  are  simply  Magnus,  my 
kindly  playmate  on  the  bright  lake  of  Lombardy,  and, 
sad  it  is  to  tell,  that  whatever  my  mother  may  have  told 
respecting  you,  and,  until  that  day,  she  had  never  spoken 
of  you  but  in  strongest  terms  of  endearment ;  and, 
therefore,  must  have  spoken  in  admiration  of  you  to  my 
father  ;  but,  be  it  Avhat  it  may,  I  must  now  add,  that 
my  father  told  me,  if  I  would  not  bring  down  shame 
upon  my  own  head,  and  curses  upon  his,  never  again  to 
mention  your  name ;  never  again  to  think  of  you. 
From  that  day  to  this,  I  have  strictly  kept  his  commands. 
I  have  not  spoken  of  you,  even  to  my  faithful  Agatha. 
But,  as  to  not  thinking  of  you !  I  could  not  there  obey 
him  ;  a  child's  first  affections  are  a  rich  mould  fi-om 
which  ai'e  ever  springing  thoughts  of  the  loved  and  the 
absent.  But  then,  there  is  my  fiither's  prohibition  re- 
specting you.  No,  Magnus,  I  must  not,  cannot,  dare 
not,  bring  you  to  the  castle." 

"  But  I,  Beatrice,"  replied  the  youth,  "  shall  go  there, 
not  now,  not  as  a  poor  suppliant,  not  as  your  companion. 


THE   EENCONTRE.  21 

and  bring  clown  censure  upon  your  Tiead,  nor  in  such  a 
manner  as  to  cause  you  to  shed  a  single  tear  for  my 
sake,  you,  a  single  tear  of  whom  I  would  not  exchange 
for  the  most  precious  diamond  in  the  imperial  crown. 
I  shall  go  to  your  father's  castle  as  becomes  me,  accom- 
panied by  my  guardian,  Otho  of  Bavaria,  and  attended 
by  my  knights,  as  seemeth  my  birth,  my  wealth,  and 
my  rank,  and  Beatrice,  dearest  Beatrice,  I  will  go  there 
to  demand  of  your  father  your  hand.  I  ask  not,  care 
not,  what  may  be  his  rank  in  life  ;  if  he  were  a  king,  I 
am  his  equal ;  if  he  be  a  poor  noble,  which  I  think  he 
is  not,  or  a  still  poorer  freeman,  which  I  am  sure  he 
cannot  be ;  but  still,  if  poor,  I  go  to  make  him  most 
rich  by  the  marriage  gift  I  shall  bestow  upon  him :  in 
exchange  for  the  priceless  treasure  of  your  virgin  hand. 
Yes,  Beatrice,  it  is  well,  that  here  in  this  dark  forest, 
and  by  this  silent  stream,  we  should  part.  Loved 
woods  !  and  dear  waters  !  that  I,  in  boyish  idleness,  this 
day  visited,  little  knowing  that  she,  whose  image  has  pre- 
served me  from  all  the  vileness  that  youth  and  passion, 
and  evil  example  might  have  otherwise  suggested  to  me, 
that  even  she,  always  thought  of,  was  to  be  found  on 
the  remote  banks  of  the  Aschaff.  Here  then,  on  this 
spot,  where  the  pilgrim  heart  of  a  lover  has,  at  last, 
found  repose  —  here  let  us  part  —  we  cannot  part  but 
in  sorrow,  as  we  can  never  meet  but  in  joy  —  but  here 
we  part  —  part  in  sorrow  and  in  hope.  Say  then,  Bea- 
trice, but  the  sad  word  farewell,  and  the  light  boat  that 
conveyed  me  hither  shall,  in  a  few  hours,  carry  me  back 
to  my  uncle  Otho,  who  is  now  at  Frankfort." 

Beatrice  was  silent.  Contending  thoughts,  or  rather 
conflicting  emotions  filled  her  heart ;  joy  commingled 
with  sorrow;  hope  saddened  by  fear:  the  truthfulness 


22  THE  POPE  AND   THE  EMPEROR. 

of  lier  lover,  that  lover  first  discovered  in  the  boy  that 
she  had  been  forbidden  to  speak  of;  the  disinterested 
gallantry,  the  noble  bearing,  the  generous  affection  com- 
bined with  the  manly  beauty  of  him  who  now  stood  by 
her  side :  these,  and  a  thousand  other  ideas  and  feelings, 
until  then  unknown  to  her,  all  came  upon  her  together  : 
they  could  find  no  expression  in  words,  and  she  wept  — 
wept  bitterly. 

"  My  Lord,"  said  Agatha,  ''  you  have  spoken  as  be- 
comes you.  You  have  spoken  as  a  knight  of  whose 
homage  an  empress  might  be  proud.  You  will  do  that 
which  is  yoiu'  duty.  I  too  must  perform  mine.  I  must 
mention,  the  moment  I  return  to  the  castle,  that  this  in- 
terview has  taken  place  between  you  and  the  Lady 
Beatrice.  I  cannot  tell  it  to  her  father  ;  for  he  is  now 
absent  from  the  castle ;  but  I  shall  mention  it  to  her 
mother.  By  her  advice,  Beatrice,  I  am  sure,  will  be 
guided ;  and  that  advice  may  be  useful  even  to  you ; 
for  the  Lady  Bianca  must  know  the  reason  wherefore 
both  she  and  her  child  have  been  forbidden  to  mention 
your  name.  My  Lord  Magnus,  whatever  be  the  cause 
for  the  father  of  Beatrice  forbidding  your  name  to  be 
mentioned  by  her,  be  assured  it  cannot  be  a  light  one. 
It  certainly  cannot  be  from  caprice,  or  sudden  passion, 
or  originating  in  a  rude  gust  of  temper ;  for  he  is  ever 
loving  and  ever  kind  to  her." 

**  But  why  entertain  a  prejudice  against  one  he  has 
never  seen  ?  Why  dislike  the  name  of  one  who  can 
have  done  him  no  wrong  ?  " 

"  I  have  already  told  you,"  said  Agatha,  that  the 
father  of  Beatrice  is  now  absent  from  the  castle.  His 
return  may  be  expected  momentarily  —  it  may  be  to-day, 
to-morrow,  or  some  day  this  week.     Be  here  then,  on 


THE  EENCONTEE.  23 

this  spot,  this  day  week.  You  shall  be  met  here  by 
Beatrice,  if  the  answer  be  as  we  all  desire.  If  it  be 
otherwise,  then  it  shall  be  my  painfid  duty  alone  to 
communicate  the  purport  of  the  message  that  is  confided 
to  me.  And  now,  my  lord,  let  us  part ;  the  shades  of 
evening  are  fast  falling  around  us,  and  it  is  time  that  we 
were  on  our  way  homeward." 

"  Yes,  yes,  let  us  part,"  sighed  forth  Magnus.  *'  Let 
us  part  here,  Beatrice,  where  I  have  first,  for  so  many 
long  years,  seen  thee,  beneath  this  beech  tree  —  here 
let  me  kneel  —  and  here  kiss  —  thy  hand  —  it  is  all  I 
ask  of  thee  —  my  sweet  one  —  my  beloved  —  my  only 
destined  bride !  " 

Beatrice  could  not  speak.  She  unfastened  a  thin 
chain  of  gold  from  her  girdle,  to  which  a  small  cross, 
set  with  rubies,  was  attached,  and  as  Magnus  knelt  be- 
fore her,  she  flung  it  over  his  neck.  In  doing  so.  her 
hand  touched,  but  did  not  rest  upon,  liis  head  ;  and,  as 
it  did  so,  she  said,  as  if  pronouncing  a  blessing : 

"  May  all  the  ang-els  guard  my  Magnus !  "  She  then 
burst  into  tears  ;  and,  as  a  burning  kiss  was  pressed 
upon  her  taper  fingers,  she  sighed  forth,  "  farewell !  " 
and  rushed  hastily  from  the  spot,  where  Magnus  re- 
mained kneeling. 

A  few  moments  afterwards  the  neighing  of  horses, 
and  the  pawing  of  palfreys,  were  heard,  intermingled 
with  the  clash  of  spears,  borne  by  the  armed  men  who 
acted  as  the  escort  of  Beatrice  and  Agatha,  and  their 
female  attendants. 

AVith  the  sound  of  the  first  movements  made  by  those 
departing  from  the  forest  to  the  castle,  Magnus  started 
from  his  knees.  He  remained  standing  and  listening  to 
the  retreating  tramp  of  horses  and  of  men,  and  when 


24  THE   POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

all  li^d  become  silent,  he  walked  back  sadly  and  gravely 
to  the  creek  in  which  his  light  boat  lay,  and  then  was 
carried  swiftly  away  with  the  current  of  the  stream. 

All  was  now  silent  in  the  forest ;  the  glades  were  fast 
filling  up  with  darkness,  and  the  last  gleams  of  twilight 
seemed  to  cluster  around  the  old  beech  tree,  which  had 
witnessed  the  meeting  and  the  parting  of  two  youthful, 
innocent,  pious,  and  virtuous  lovers,  when  there  appeared 
where  they  stood,  a  single  man,  as  there  appeared  of 
old,  in  the  garden  of  Paradise,  an  evil  spirit  who  had 
witnessed  virtue  that  he  hated,  and  innocence  that  he 
loathed.  This  man  could  be  observed  first  coming  from 
out  of  the  branches  of  the  beech  tree,  and  then  gliding 
softly  down  by  its  trunk,  until  his  feet  touched  the  earth. 
This  man  was  clothed  from  head  to  foot  in  green,  and 
even  though  he  believed  himself  to  be  alone  in  that 
dark,  lonely  forest,  his  face  was  covered  either  by  a 
mask,  or  so  colored  as  to  give  him  the  appearance  of  a 
negro. 

Upon  this  sti-anger's  feet  touching  the  ground,  he 
paused ;  it  might  be  for  a  minute  or  two.  He  then 
went  cautiously  round  the  trunk  of  the  tree,  examining 
all  sides  as  he  went ;  so  as  to  be  sure  that  there  was  no 
one  there  to  watch  him.  Having  satisfied  himself  that 
he  was  not  observed,  he  then  placed  his  hands  to  his 
mouth,  and  a  sound  issued  forth  that  precisely  resem- 
bled the  melancholy  hooting  of  the  owl.  These  sounds 
were  twice  repeated. 

A  pause  of  a  few  minutes  occurred,  and  then  there 
was  heard  across  the  waters  the  distant  twittering  of  a 
swallow.  Twice,  too,  were  these  notes  heard,  and  then 
came  the  quick  splashing  of  oars. 

The  movement  of  the  oars  ceased,  and  a  man,  whose 


THE  RENCONTRE.  25 

face  was  darkened,  or  who  wore  a  mask,  advanced  to 
the  beech  tree,  and  these  words  were  exchanged  be- 
tween the  two  strangei-s. 

"  Have  I  spoken  truly,  Werenher  ?  " 

"  Most  truly,  Egen." 

"  Is  she  not  fair  and  beauteous  to  the  eye  ?  " 

"  In  Franconia,  in  Swabia,  in  Lombardy,  in  Bohemia, 
in  Hungary,  and  in  Poland,  there  is  not  one  to  equal 
hei-.  She  is  alone  fitted  for  an  emperor  ;  but  more  im- 
portant things  are  to  be  told  than  that  there  is  a  fair 
maiden  in  AschafFenburg.     Let  the  men  row  quickly." 

''They  shall  do  so." 

The  boat  disappeared  —  and  shortly  afterwards,  there 
was  nought  but  darkness  and  solitude  in  the  woods  and 
streams  of  AschafFenburg, 


CHAPTER    II. 

THE   ORATORY. 


In  a  small  room  —  small  in  extent  when  compared 
with  its  great  height  —  and  this  room  so  dimly  lighted 
by  a  single  lamp  dependent  from  the  roof,  that  alcove 
and  doorway  remained  in  darkness,  there  was  to  be  seen 
a  species  of  altar,  that  seemed  to  be  but  sufficient  as  a 
pediment  for  a  large  ivory  figure  of  the  Savior,  resting 
upon  a  cross  of  wood  so  blackened  by  age  that  it  ap- 
peared to  be  ebony.  Before  this  altar,  and  with  snow- 
white  hands  clasping  the  cross,  and  the  ensanguined  feet 
of  the  sacred  image,  was  to  be  seen  the  bending  figure 
3 


26  THE   POPE  AND  THE  EMPEKOR. 

of  a  female,  covered  with  a  long,  dark  cloak,  "which  fall- 
ing over  the  head  in  front,  and  the  feet  behind,  con- 
cealed face  and  person  alike  from  the  view ;  so  that  it 
might  be  surmised  the  folds  had  been  thus  arranged  by 
the  wearer,  in  order  that,  shutting  out  all  objects  from 
her  sight,  she  might  devote  herself  wholly,  heart  and 
soul,  to  meditation. 

An  hour  had  nearly  passed  away,  and  she  who  knelt 
might  still  be  seen  in  the  same  attitude.  There  was  no 
sound  of  prayer  —  not  one  syllable  spoken  beyond  a 
single  ejaculation — and  that  one,  the  word  which 
comprises  in  itself  suffering  on  earth,  and  salvation  in 
heaven  —  the  name  of  Him  before  whose  figure  she 
knelt,  and  the  contemplation  of  whose  sufferings  excited 
her  devotion. 

The  silent  and  lonely  oratory  was  at  length  shaken  by 
the  sharp  and  sudden  ringing  forth  of  a  loud,  clamorous 
bell;  but  still  the  attitude  of  the  kneeling,  praying 
female  was  not  aUered.  The  chamber  door  opened,  and 
there  crept  in  silently,  slowly,  and  sadly,  another  female, 
who,  kneeling  gently  down  by  her  whose  devotions  still 
continued,  for  a  few  minutes  bent  her  head  in  prayer, 
and  then  throwing  her  arms  around  the  kneeling  sup- 
pliant, exclaimed :  — 

"  Bless  me,  and  pray  for  me,  mother,  for  I  am  very 
sad,  and  have  none  other  in  the  world  to  comfort  and 
console  me  but  you." 

"  God  bless  my  Beatrice  !  my  gentle  daughter  —  my 
only  child  !  "  ejaculated  the  female,  as  she  stood  up,  and 
cast  back  from  her  the  dark  cloak,  which  had  previously 
covered  her. 

"  God  bless  my  child !  "  were  the  words  now  given 
Utterance  to  by  lips,  so  red,  so  fresh,  and  so  beauteous. 


THE  ORATORY.  27 

and  covering  such  dazzling  white  teeth,  that  they  seemed 
to  be  those  of  a  sister,  not  a  mother.  Eegarded  in  the 
dim  light  of  that  obscure  oratory,  the  mother  and  the 
daughter  seemed  to  be  so  very  like  each  other  that  it 
would  be  scarcely  possible  to  mark  the  distinction  of 
years  between  them.  Both  had  the  same  superabun- 
dance of  light-brown,  golden  shaded,  silken  hair  ;  both 
the  same  satiny  snowy  skin,  both  the  same  exquisitely 
moulded  small,  feminine  features,  and  both  had  the 
same  large,  lustrous  eyes,  in  wliich  shone  forth,  as  if 
they  were  diamond-sparkles  from  the  pure  soul  within, 
glances  of  genius,  of  love,  of  truth,  and  of  virtuous 
innocence.  Eegarded  in  the  broad  glare  of  day,  per- 
haps one  who  knew  both  mother  and  daughter  well, 
might  from  that  knowledge  be  able  to  detect,  in  the 
eyes  of  the  first  the  traces  of  many  bitter  tears,  from 
which  her  youth  and  experience  had  preserved  the 
latter.  In  all  other  respects  they  seemed  the  same ;  for 
if  care  had  been  in  the  mother's  heart,  it  had  not,  at 
least  as  yet,  worked  its  way  to  the  surface,  nor  deformed 
by  a  single  wrinkle  that  fair  face  on  which  the  youthful 
graces  still  seemed  delighted  to  dwell.  The  figures  of 
both  seemed  to  be  moulded  in  the  same  form  ;  and  each 
alike  was  faultless.  In  Bianca  was  beheld  the  lovely 
woman  not  yet  forgetful  of  her  girlhood,  and  in  Beatrice 
the  girl  surprised  to  find  herself  admired  as  a  woman. 

"  But  what  say  you,  my  child,"  inquired  Bianca,  "  of 
your  being  sad  ?  or,  what  can  have  caused  your  tears  ? 
for  I  perceive  you  have  been  weeping." 

"  Alas  !  mother,  this  has  been  an  eventfid  day  to  me. 
I  have  seen  him,  whose  name  I  have  for  years  been  for- 
bidden to  speak." 

"  Ah  !  me,  you  need  not  tell  me  more,  Beatrice.     In 


28  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

you/'  said  Bianca,  "  I  see  myself  revived.  In  you  I  be- 
hold my  own  sad  destiny  renewed.  You  love  him, 
Beatrice  —  I  see  it  all  —  and  you  are  forbidden  to  love 
him  by  your  father.  Then  think  of  him  no  more  — 
nay,  drive  him  from  your  thoughts,  ay  —  even  though 
your  heart,  and  with  yours,  mine  should  break  in  the 
effort." 

"  O,  mother  —  mother  !  —  dearest  mother,  do  not  say 
such  words  as  these.  Do  not  drive  me  to  despair  — 
have  pity  on  me  —  on  my  knees  I  beg  of  you  to  recall 
those  cruel  words  — '  think  of  him  no  more  !  '  " 

And  as  Beatrice  spoke,  she  knelt,  and  hid  her  now 
clay-cold  face  in  her  mother's  robe. 

"It  is  just,  O,  Lord!  it  is  just,"  meekly  ejaculated 
Bianca,  "  the  sins  of  the  parents  should  be  visited  on 
the  children ;  for  it  is  in  thtir  sorrows  that  our  sins  are 
most  bitterly  punished.  Had  I  been  a  good  and  obedient 
child  —  liad  I  done  that  Avhich  my  father  desired  me  to 
do,  then,  O,  God !  I  had  never  seen  this  good  and  gentle 
gii'l  —  this  pure  and  stainless  essence  of  my  sinful  heart 
—  I  had  never  seen  her — dearer  to  me  than  life  — 
than  all  else  in  this  M'orld  —  I  had  never  seen  her  —  my 
daughter  —  my  beloved  —  my  Beatrice,  prostrate  here 
in  grief  before  mc  —  and  for  the  same  cause  —  O,  Lord  ! 
for  the  same  —  the  same  —  it  is  just  —  O,  God  —  how 
very  just,  and  how  very  bitter." 

"  Ah  !  mother  —  pardon  me  !  —  indeed  I  did  not  in- 
tend so  to  grieve  you.  Do  not  you  weep,  mother,  and 
I  shall  feel  sorrow  no  more.  I  will  speak  no  more  of 
Magnus  —  I  Avill  not  think  of —  Ah  !  no  —  I  cannot  do 
that;  but  I  shall  mention  his  name  no  more,  and  — 
dearest  mother  —  it  will  be  no  sin  to  die  then,  thinking 
of  him,  of  you,  of  my  Guardian  Angel,  of  the  Holy 
Virgin,  and  of  God — " 


THE   ORATORY.  ^ 

Poor  Beatrice  could  say  no  more  —  she  fell  prostrate 
at  her  mother's  feet,  and  bedewed  them  with  her  tears. 

Bianca  knelt  down  on  the  floor  beside  her  child  — 
kissed  her  a  thousand  times  —  then  folding  her  arms 
around  her,  she  said  — 

"Come,  Beatrice,  rouse  yourself — we  must  submit 
to  the  will  of  God,  and  not  struggle  against  it.  He 
sends  us  not  a  single  sorrow  that  is  not  intended,  if  we 
make  the  proper  nse  of  it,  for  our  sanctification.  Our 
trials  here  shall  be  our  glories  hereafter,  if  we  receive 
them  as  such  from  His  all  gracious,  and  ever  compas- 
sionate hand.  Come,  my  child,  recline  your  form  upon 
a  couch,  and  rest  your  head  on  a  mother's  heart.  You 
have,  what  I  had  not,  a  mother  to  advise  you ;  and  you 
shall  have,  what  I  could  not  have,  happily  for  herself, 
a  mother,  whose  sad  tale  shall  be  to  her  child,  at  the 
same  time  an  example,  a  guide,  and  a  warning.  Listen 
to  me,  Beatrice,"  continued  Bianca  ;  "  for  I  am  now 
about  to  address  you  in  language,  such  as  I  never  spoke 
to  you  before.  Yesterday  you  Avere  a  girl  —  to-day  you 
are  a  woman  —  for  you  have  seen  Magnus  —  I  know 
that  he  has  spoken  to  you  of  marriage  —  and  vou  have 
in  the  boy  you  loved  recognized  the  man  to  whom  you 
would  wish  to  devote  your  life.  You  have  not  told  me 
this  ;  but  in  your  eyes,  that  have  always  been  as  truth- 
ful as  your  tongue,  and  in  my  own  heart,  I  have  read  it 
all.  You  love  the  very  man  that  your  itither  has  for- 
bidden you  to  name." 

"  Alas  !  it  is  so,"  sighed  forth  Beatrice. 

"  Then,  mark  well  what  I  say,  my  child.  I  too  loved 
a  man,  whose  name  I  was  forbidden  by  my  father  to 
mention.  This  is  my  sad  story,  which  must  now  be  told 
to  you  for  the  first  time.     I  am  by  birth  one  of  the 


30  THE  POPE   AND   THE  EMPEROR. 

noble  and  ancient  family  of  Albani,  and  my  first  recol- 
lections are  of  a  castle,  high,  perched  upon  an  irregular 
mass  of  rock,  looking  proudly  over  the  rich  vineyards, 
smiling  gardens,  and  sweet  olive  groves  of  Viterbo,  in 
the  Roman  States.  I  have  no  recollection  of  my  mother 
■ —  I  can  but  remember,  that  from  the  steep  castle  on  the 
rock  I  found  myself  as  a  child  — a  mere  infant  in  the 
midst  of  a  large  nunnery  —  that  there  I  was  treated 
with  such  tenderness,  that  I  cannot  now  say  who  was 
most  kind  to  me,  the  venerable  mother  superior,  or  the 
poorest  lay-sister  that  waited  upon  me.  My  childhood 
and  my  girlhood  were  but  as  a  single  day  —  and  that 
a  day  of  unmingled  happiness.  From  the  convent  I 
was  taken  back  to  my  father's  castle  —  and  there  I  found 
one  of  whom  I  had  never  heard  before  —  the  youthful 
Eberhard.  My  father  bade  mc  love  him  as  his  friend, 
for  in  a  recent  visit  paid  by  him  to  Rome,  Eberhard  had 
rescued  my  father  from  the  hands  of  one  of  those  bands 
of  assassins,  in  the  pay  of  the  Cenci  —  the  curse  to  the 
Roman  people,  the  affliction  of  pilgrims,  the  disgrace  to 
Rome,  the  persecutors  of  the  Pontiffs.  It  seemed  that 
my  father,  when  poorly  guarded,  was  attacked  in  the 
streets  of  Rome  by  one  of  the  gangs  in  the  pay  of  those 
robber  nobles ;  and  he  declared  that  his  liberty  would 
have  been  lost,  and  most  probably  his  life  sacrificed,  but 
for  the  timely  aid  afforded  to  him  by  Eberhard. 

''About  nineteen  years  ago,  my  dear  child,  you  can 
have  no  adequate  notion  of  what  Avas  the  state  of  the 
city  of  Rome,  and  what  peril  the  person  encountered 
who  ventured  to  visit  it,  either  upon  the  affairs  of  this 
life,  or  for  the  purposes  of  devotion.  It  has  been  thus 
described  to  me  by  a  good  monk,  who  was  there  at  the 
period  that  Gregory  VL,  of  blessed  memory,  ascended 


THE  ORATOEY.  31 

the  papal  tliront?.  I  use  his  xbyj  v>-orcls  in  describing 
the  then  existing  condition  of  things.  He  said,  that 
with  the  exception  of  a  few  toAvns  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Rome,  and  the  offerings  of  the  fiiithful,  the  Pope 
himself  had  scarcely  sufficient  to  subsist  upon  ;  that  the 
lands  and  cities  which  lay  at  a  distance  from  Rome,  and 
that  were  the  property  of  the  church,  had  been  taken 
possession  of  by  robbers  ;  that  the  public  roads  and  the 
highways,  not  only  in  the  Papal  States,  but  throughout 
all  Italy,  were  so  beset,  it  might  even  be  said  thronged 
with  thieves,  that  no  pilgrim,  unless  protected  by  a  large 
escort,  could  pass  in  safety  along  them ;  that  there  were 
to  be  found  swarms  of  miscreants  upon  every  pathway, 
and  that  the  poor  not  less  than  the  ricli  were  their  vic- 
tims ;  whilst  the  city  itself,  which,  for  centuries,  had 
been  celebrated  as  the  abode  of  holiness,  was  held  by 
bands  of  knaves  and  assassins,  who  Avere  not  merely  to 
be  met  with  in  the  ancient  forum,  but  who  audaciously 
unsheathed  their  swords  over  the  sacred  altars,  and  the 
very  bodies  of  the  apostles  ;  and  the  pious  offerings 
which  devout  pilgrims  had  presented  were  torn  away  by 
those  sacrilegious  villains,  and  wasted  by  them  in  drunk- 
enness and  debauchery.  It  was  at  the  very  time  that 
these  things  were  occurring,  and  when  the  good  Pope 
Gregory  VI,  complained,  in  the  words  of  the  Holy 
Scripture,  that  '  the  house  of  God  had  been  converted 
into  a  den  of  thieves,'  that  my  itither  travelled  to  Rome, 
and  that  he  declared  he  was  indebted  for  his  life  to  the 
bravery  of  Eberhard. 

"  I  learned  then  to  look  upon  Eberhard  as  the  pre- 
server of  my  father's  life.  Such  a  claim  upon  my  grati- 
tude made  him  find  favor  in  my  sight.  Alas  !  his  per- 
sonal appearance,  his  graceful  manners,  and  his  mental 


33  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

accomplishments  soon  ripened  that  sentiment  Into  one 
of  intense  love.  I  did  not  feel  that  it  was  wrong  to  give 
way  to  it ;  and  as  I  had  never  been  thought  to  disgnise 
my  feelings,  I  suppose  not  only  Eberhard,  but  my  father 
became  conscious  of  them.  The  former  cherished,  the 
latter  never  said  a  word  in  disapprobation  of  them. 

"  I  shall  not  now  dwell  upon  the  three  months  of  su- 
preme felicity  that  thus  passed  away  in  the  Castle  of 
Viterbo.  It  is  sufficient  to  say  that  they  terminated  for- 
ever by  my  father  proposing  a  second  journey  to  Rome, 
which  a  missive  from  the  Pontiff,  who  was  then  occupied 
in  putting  down  abuses  in  the  city  and  states  of  Rome, 
required  him  to  take.  He  asked  Eberhard  to  accom- 
pany him,  and  the  latter,  as  it  appeared  to  me,  unwill- 
ingly gave  his  assent  to  that  proposal., 

"  They  departed  with  a  numerous  retinue  for  Rome. 
Four  weeks  then  elapsed,  and  at  the  end  of  that  time, 
my  father  returned  — alone  ! 

"  My  father  appeared  to  me  to  have  become  in  those 
few  weeks  an  aged  man.  Grief  or  care  seemed  to  have 
cast  upon  him  a  premature  old  age,  which  his  years 
might  yet  have  spared  him.  He  was  at  all  times  a  silent 
—  a  reserved  man  —  wholly  absorbed  in  the  perform- 
ance of  his  daily  devotions  —  spending  most  of  his  time 
in  prayers,  and  only  varying  them  by  acts  of  charity, 
which  he  discharged  not  as  feeling  a  pleasure  in  their 
performance,  but  as  complying  with  what  he  considered  to 
be  an  unavoidable  and  an  irksome  duty.  To  me  he  had 
always  been  gentle,  but  never  kind  —  that  is,  he  had 
never  made  me  feel  that  I  formed  a  portion  of  his  hap- 
piness ;  but  that  as  he  was  detached  from  this  earth,  by 
every  other  tie,  so  that  love  for  his  child  did  not  bind 
him  to  it.     As,  upon  his  return,  I  knelt  before  liim,  to 


THE   ORATORY.  33 

receive  his  blessing,  I  was  astonished  to  find  him,  for  the 
first  time  since  I  was  an  infant,  raise  me  from  the  earth, 
clasp  me  in  his  arms,  burst  into  tears,  and  exclaim  — ' 
*  My  child  !  my  poor  child !  God  bless  thee,  and  strength- 
en thee,  in  thy  grief.' 

"  Confused,  panic-stricken,  I  may  say,  by  this  un- 
looked-for incident,  and  by  such  words  as  these,  I  could 
not  speak  to  him. 

"  '  Bianca,'  he  continued,  '  I  must  return  to  Rome 
this  very  day.  His  holiness  the  Pope,  finding  that  his 
remonstrances  are  of  no  avail  with  the  wretches  who 
infest  Rome,  and  who  rob  the  pilgrims  and  travellers 
repairing  to  the  city,  has  placed  them  under  excommu- 
nication, and  has  confided  to  me  the  command  of  some 
troops  for  the  purpose  of  cutting  them  oif  by  the  sword. 
It  is  a  difficult  and  dangerous  task  ;  it  is  one  which  is 
full  of  peril,  not  merely  the  peril  of  battle,  which  I  can 
joyfully  meet,  but  still  greater,  the  peril  of  treachery, 
from  which  I  cannot  protect  myself ;  for  I  shall  have  to 
fiice  soldiers  in  the  field,  and  assassins  in  my  chamber. 
The  sword,  the  dagger,  and  the  insidious  gift  of  the 
poisoner  alike  await  me  ;  because  the  foes  of  the  Pontiff 
are  villains  who  have  no  faith  in  God,  no  pity  for  man, 
and  no  mercy  even  for  children.  I  tell  thee  this,  my 
child,  because  there  is  the  chance  that  this  may  be  our 
last  meeting  on  this  earth.  For  myself  I  care  not ;  for 
if  I  should  fall  in  such  a  contest  as  this,  in  battling  for 
my  God,  my  prince,  and  the  church,  then  I  look  for  my 
reward  in  heaven.  But  in  such  a  case  what  is  to  be- 
come of  thee  i  At  once  repair  to  the  convent  in  which 
thou  hast  been  educated,  and  there  devote  thyself  to  the 
service  of  heaven,  there  seek  for  that  Spouse,  who  is  all 
truth  as  He  is  all  charity,  with  whom  the   heart-broken 


34:  THE  POPE  AXD   THE  EMPEEOR. 

find  repose,  and  from  whom  the  heavily-laden  receive 
relief.  I  say  this  to  thee,  because  I  know  the  state  of 
thy  heart  ;  I  say  this  to  thee,  because  if  I  return  living 
to  Viterbo,  I  forbid  thee  ever  to  mention  to  me  the  name 
of  Eberhard,  and  if  it  be  otherwise,  then  I  say  to  thee 
as  thou  wouldst  prize  a  father's  blessing  in  this  world, 
and  in  the  next,  think  no  more  of  the  man.' 

"  With  these  words,  my  father  embraced  me,  and 
again  quitted  the  castle." 

"  Alas  !  mother,  your  situation  was  as  doleful  and  as 
dreadful  then,  as  mine  is  now,"  observed  Beatrice. 

"  It  was,  my  child  ;  but  in  this  respect  far  different. 
I  had  no  mother  to  advise  me ;  I  had  not  even  amongst 
my  female  attendants  one  like  Agatha,  to  whom  I  could 
speak  with  the  same  confidence,  and  with  the  same  re- 
liance on  her  good  sense,  as  if  she  were  a  mother  :  they 
were  all  but  the  wives  and  daughters  of  ignorant  serfs. 
I  was  alone  —  alone  in  the  Castle  of  Yiterbo  —  alone 
in  the  wide  world,  with  my  inexperience,  and  my  affec- 
tions ;  knowing  nought  of  guilt  myself,  and  never  sus- 
pecting it  could  be  practised  by  another. 

"  Beatrice,  by  your  own  grief  at  this  moment,  you 
can  judge  how  sad  was  the  state  in  Avhich  my  fiither  left 
me.  The  unavailing  pangs  of  a  vain  sorrow  are  but 
rendered  more  bitter  by  their  recapitulation,  and  I  there- 
fore shall  not  dwell  on  mine.  INIy  days  were  days  of 
dull  despair,  my  nights,  nights  of  sleepless  anguish. 
So  I  remained  for  some  weeks,  until  at  length  intelli- 
gence reached  the  village  of  Viterbo,  that  the  robber- 
hordes  of  Italy  had  received  assistance  from  some  of 
the  troops  of  the  German  Emperor,  that  both  confed- 
erated together  had  defeated  the  Papal  soldiers  com- 
manded by  my  father,  that  in  the  confiict  my  father  had 


THE   ORATORY.  35 

been  slain,  and  that  now  the  robber-bands,  swelled  into 
the  greatness  of  an  army,  were  laying  waste  the  villages, 
and  that  a  special  body  of  them  were,  from  revenge, 
marching  iipon  Viterbo  for  the  purpose  of  destroying 
my  father's  castle,  seizing  upon  his  wealth,  and  carrying 
me  away  as  theii  prize. 

"  It  was  when  the  village  was  filled  with  lamentations 
at  this  intelligence,  and  when  the  few  soldiers  left  by 
my  father  at  the  castle  were  preparing  for  a  vigorous 
and  desperate  defence,  that  the  well-known  face  and 
figure  of  Eberhard  were  seen  approaching  the  walls. 
lie  came,  accompanied  by  a  priest,  and  demanded  instant 
admission  to  my  presence. 

'•'  I  was  comforted  ;  but  yet  not  glad  to  see  him  ;  for 
my  thoughts  were  engrossed  by  the  direful  tidings  of 
my  fiither's  death.  Eberhard  confirmed  the  truth  of 
the  rumors  we  had  heard.  He  showed  us  that  they 
were  even  worse  than  we  had  supposed  ;  that  the  con- 
vent to  which  m^y  father  had  desired  me  to  repair  in 
case  of  his  death,  had  been  burned  down  by  the  robber- 
bands  during  the  preceding  night ;  and  he  added  that 
the  main  object  those  bauds  had  in  gaining  possession 
of  Viterbo  was  to  seize  upon  me,  in  order  that  the 
daughter  of  the  Pope's  champion  might  be  exposed  to  a 
dishonoring  doom,  worse  than  death  itself:  he  repre- 
sented that  the  only  chance  of  saving  the  lives  of  the 
inhabitants  of  Viterbo,  and  of  myself  escaping,  was  by 
flying  upon  the  instant  with  him  —  that  as  his  ivife  I 
might  pass  through  the  enemies'  lines,  when  there  would 
be  no  possibility  of  saving  me  as  the  daughter  of  Albani ; 
that  for  this  purpose,  in  case  my  father's  chaplain  was 
absent,  he  had  brought  with  him  a  priest ;  and  that  he 
had  provided  himself  with  a  warrant  bearing  the  seal  of 


36  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

the  emperor,  whicli  even  the  rudest  gang  of  footpads 
in  Italy  would  not  dare  to  disrespect. 

"  It  was  under  those  circumstances  of  grief,  of  terror, 
and  of  sudden  surprise  —  and  urged,  too,  on  all  sides 
by  the  retainers  of  my  father,  who  knew  nothing  of 
Eberhard,  but  that  they  had  always  seen  him  in  the 
castle  treated  and  acknowledged  as  my  accepted  lover, 
and  my  destined  bridegroom,  but  I,  who  knew  well, 
and  remembered  well  my  father's  prohibition,  did  still 
violate  that  prohibition,  and  prepared  for  myself  a  life 
of  endless  sorrow,  because  of  useless  repentance ;  for  I 
became  the  wife  of  Eberhard  —  of  your  father." 

"  Of  my  father  ! "  cried  Beatrice,  forgetting  for  the 
moment  all  her  griefs,  in  the  strange  tale  thus  told  by 
Bianca.  "  Of  my  father  ;  but  you  do  not  now  call  him 
Eberhard." 

"Ah,  my  child,"  said  Bianca,  "  a  parent's  solemn 
prohibition  can  never  be  lightly  violated.  It  is  certain 
to  bring  sorrow  in  this  world  upon  whomsoever  is  its 
transgressor,  although  repentance  may  much  mitigate 
the  tremendous  punishment  that  otherwise  awaits  it  in 
the  world  to  come." 

Bianca  here  wept  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  pro- 
ceeded :  — 

"  It  was  in  my  father's  castle  of  Viterbo,  and  with 
my  father's  prohibition  in  my  ears,  but  by  my  father's 
chaplain,  and  not  the  priest  that  Eberhard  had  brought 
with  him,  that  I  was  there  hastily  united  to  him,  and 
then  hurried  away  from  Viterbo,  to  that  dwelling-place 
on  the  Lago  Maggiore  where  you  were  born.  There  he 
cherished  me  —  there  he  cared  for  me  —  there  surround- 
ed me  with  all  the  luxuries  that  wealth  could  command, 
or  even  caprice  suggest.  No  lover  could  be  more  fond, 
no  husband  more  attached  to  his  bride  ;  and  yet  with 


THE   ORATORY.  37 

all  this,  my  child,  I  had  ever  before  my  conscience  my 
father's  prohibition,  and  I  had  ever  present  to  my  senses 
its  daily  punishment,  for  your  father  no  longer  called 
himself  Eberhard  —  at  the  Lago  Maggiore  he  was  only 
known  by  the  designation  of  IMaufred." 

"  What !  another  name  !  and  that,  too,  not  only  dif- 
ferent from  Eberhard,  but  also  from  that  which  he  now 
bears,  and  which  I  alone  remember  to  have  heard  him 
called,"  observed  Beatrice,  lost  in  astonishment  at  the  dis- 
closures of  Bianca. 

"  Yes,  yes,  the  marriage  so  hastily  proposed,  and  so 
speedily  accepted,  has  been  followed  by  long  years  of 
mystery  —  the  reason  of  which  I  cannot  divine,  and  the 
motive  for  which  I  cannot  solve.  Had  my  husband," 
said  Bianca,  "  been  a  peasant,  and  practised  a  deception 
upon  me  —  the  daughter  of  a  noble  —  for  the  purpose 
of  being  married  to  him,  still  I  must  love  him,  as  I  do 
love  him,  despite  of  all  this  mysteiy^  ;  for  O,  my  child, 
believe  vie  —  that  never  yet  did  there  live  a  better,  a  more 
kind,  a  more  tender,  or  a  more  devoted  husband  than 
your  father." 

These  last  words,  and  these  last  words  only,  were  heard 
by  a  person,  who  did  not  enter  the  room  by  the  door, 
but  appeared  to  emerge  from  a  dark  alcove  at  the  back 
of  the  speakers.  The  movement  made  by  him  in  en- 
tering was  heard  by  Bianca,  who  observed,  though  she 
did  not  appear  to  notice,  that  he  had  not  passed  through 
the  doorway. 

«  Alas  !  "  thought  Bianca,  "  still  another  secret  with 
which  I  was  not  before  acquainted." 

She  turned,  however,  suddenly  round,  and  as  if  she 
V\"ere   but   continuing   the   discourse   she   had  with   her 
child,  observed  — 
4 


38  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROK. 

"  But  here,  Beatrice,  is  your  father. ^^ 

"  Ah  !  my  father  !  "  shrieked  Beatrice,  as  she  fell 
fainting  back  upon  the  couch  on  which  she  had  been 
resting. 

The  man  trembled  —  it  might  be  with  fear,  or  terror, 
upon  finding  that  the  name  of  ''father  "  had  excited 
something  like  horror,  when  expressed  by  the  lips  of 
his  own  —  his  only  child  !  For  a  moment  that  piercing 
shriek  had  unnerved  him.  He  started  back,  and  for  an 
instant,  there  was  what  might  be  regarded  as  the  wild 
glare  of  an  infuriated  maniac  in  his  eyes  ;  but  it  passed 
speedily  away,  as  he  perceived  that  his  child  remained 
still  insensible,  and  that  all  the  thoughts  and  cares  of 
his  wife  were  devoted  to  the  endeavor  of  restoring  an- 
imation to  the  now  seemingly  lifeless  Beatrice. 

This  man,  so  strong  in  frame  —  so  vigorous  in  years, 
whose  sable  locks  and  thick  black  beard  were  but  inter- 
mingled with  a  few  gray  hairs,  whose  dark  skin  was 
flushed  with  the  ruddy  hue  of  health,  and  who  appeared, 
with  his  high  forehead,  his  finely-formed  Grecian  nose, 
well-rounded  chin,  and  stalwart  figure,  a  paladin  of  the 
army  of  Charlemagne,  now  knelt  down  upon  the  floor, 
and  seizing  the  senseless  hand  of  his  child,  he  covered 
it  with  kisses,  and  Avept  —  wept  as  if  he  were  a  poor, 
timid,  weak,  and  helpless  woman  ! 

The  cares  bestowed  by  Bianca,  and  perchance,  the 
warm  tears  shed  by  her  father  on  her  hand,  at  length 
restored  Beatrice  to  perfect  consciousness  of  what  was 
passing  around  her. 

"  My  child,"  said  Bianca,  "  you  are  now  too  agitated 
by  the  events  of  this  day,  to  continue  either  your  con- 
versation with  me,  or  to  discuss  with  your  father  the 
subject  to  which  we  were  referring  when  he  entered  the 


THE   ORATORY.  39 

oratory.  Betake  yourself  now  to  your  bed.  Good 
night,  iny  child  ;  good  night." 

"  Good  night,  dearest  mother,"  said  Beatrice,  clasping 
her  mother  in  her  arms,  and  kissing  her  fervently  on 
both  cheeks.  "  Good  night,  father,"  said  Beatrice,  kiss- 
ing his  hand,  and  without  venturing,  or  perhaps  wishing 
to  look  in  his  face,  before  she  left  the  room. 

The  father  marked  the  distinction  in  his  child's  man- 
ner to  himself  and  to  her  mother,  and  again  a  slight 
shiver  passed  through  his  frame.  He  walked  up  and 
down  the  room  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then,  as  if  per- 
fect calmness  had  been  restored  to  him,  he  said  : 

"  Of  what,  Bianca,  were  you  and  our  child  talking 
when  I  entered  the  room  ?  " 

"  Of  you,  my  husband,  of  myself,  of  herself  But 
may  I  speak  to  you  on  a  subject  that  you  have  previous- 
ly forbidden  me  ?  or  shall  our  faithful  Agatha,  on  whom 
no  such  prohibition  is  laid,  be  your  informant  ?  " 

"  Speak  what  you  wish,  Bianca  —  if  it  be  good  news, 
it  will  be  more  welcome  from  your  lips  than  from  any 
other's  ;  if  it  be  bad,  then  the  evil  will  be  the  less,  for  it 
vv'ill  be  told  to  me,  in  accents,  to  which  I  love  at  all 
times  to  listen." 

"  Then,  husband,  I  have  to  speak  to  you  of  Magnus." 

"  Of  Magnus  !  Magnus  !  what  Magnus  ?  "  asked  her 
husband. 

"  Of  what  Magnus  !  Is  it  possible  you  can  ask  that 
question,  when  you  prohibited  either  me  or  my  daughter 
ever  again  to  mention  his  name,"  said  Bianca,  surprised 
at  the  strange  forgetfulness  of  her  husband. 

"  O,  ay,  I  recollect  now,"  said  the  man,  smiling  ; 
"  Magnus  was  the  name  of  some  pretty  boy  —  a  pretty 
page,  or  puny  baron,  that  Beatrice  saw,  when  she  was  a 


40  THE  POPE   AND   THE  EMPEROE. 

child,  at  the  Lago  Maggiore,  and  of  whom  the  Httle 
"vrench  spoke  to  me,  one  day,  with  all  the  enthusiasm  of 
a  love-sick  maiden,  although  she  could  not  then  have 
been  more  than  fourteen  years  of  age.  I  forbade  her  to 
speak  of  him  then,  as  I  wished  to  frighten  all  such 
thoughts  out  of  her  head.  I  included  you  in  that  pro- 
hibition, as  you  too  had  seen  him,  and  I  was  desirous 
that  you  should  aid  me  in  teaching  her  to  forget  him." 

"  Then,  husband,  if  you  thought  it  desirable  to  laugh 
such  thoughts  out  of  Beatrice's  head,  you  adopted  the 
worst  course  you  possibly  could  have  taken.  Your  pro- 
hibition gave  a  permanency  to  ideas  that  might  otherwise 
have  been  dissipated.  But  how  came  you  to  make*such 
a  mistake  about  ^Magnus  as  to  speak  of  him  as  a  little 
page,  or  puny  baron  ?  Know  then  the  facts,  as  Agatha 
told  them  to  me,  previous  to  Beatrice  visiting  me  in  my 
oratory.  This  very  day,  Magnus,  who  chanced  to  be 
on  the  AschaflP,  saw  Beatrice  in  that  favored  nook  on  its 
banks,  to  which  she  is  so  fond  of  resorting  —  he  there 
declared  his  love  for  her,  and  there  avowed  his  intention 
to  come  here  and  demand  from  you  her  hand  in  marriage." 

**  And  what  then  is  this  INIagnus,  who  thus  so  confi- 
dently speaks  of  demanding,  as  if  he  were  entitled  to 
receive  my  daughter's  hand  in  marriage  ?  "  asked  the 
husband  of  Bianca  —  and,  as  he  did  so,  leaning  with  his 
right  hand  upon  the  altar-basement  of  the  crucifix. 

"  He  is,"  answered  Bianca,  not  noticing  the  agitation 
and  the  attitude  of  her  husband.  "  He  is,"  she  said, 
*'  Magnus,  Duke  of  Saxony  ;  and  he  spoke  of  bringing 
with  him  his  guardian,  Otho,  Duke  of  Bavaria,  and  he 
speaks  too  of  his  attendants,  and  of  his  knights,  and  of 
—  but  good  heavens  !  husband,  what  is  the  matter  with 
you  ?     Are  you  ill  ?  " 


THE   ORATORY.  41 

These  latter  words  were  addressed  to  one  who  did 
3i.ot  hear.  The  hair  of  the  miserable  man  had  risen  upon 
his  head  in  horror,  as  if  each  particular  fibre  of  the  in- 
sensate mass  had  been  endowed  with  life  —  his  teeth 
were  set  —  his  eyes,  glassy  and  staring  with  terror,  were 
fastened  upon  the  ivory  image  of  the  Savior,  which,  in 
his  rude,  convulsive  grasp,  had  been  torn  from  the  cross 
on  which  it  had  rested  —  and  he  stood  thus  facing  it, 
and  even  looking  defiance,  and  seeming  to  examine  it, 
as  if  he  could  detect  upon  the  fixed  features  a  single 
line  indicative  of  a  triumph  over  him.  It  was  an  awful 
thing  to  behold  this  fiend-like  outburst  of  living  infuri- 
ated rage,  and  that  inanimate  semblance  of  meekness, 
of  suffering,  of  patience,  of  agony,  and  of  forgiveness. 
The  man  stood,  as  we  might  suppose,  a  desperate,  ago- 
nized demon,  to  stand  defying  the  immovable  Godhead. 
He  continued  thus  speechless,  motionless,  breathless, 
and  then  his  rigid  sinews  relaxed  —  the  figure  of  the 
Redeemer  fell  from  his  grasp  ;  but  was  caught  by  the 
hands  of  Bianca,  m  ho  reverently  replaced  it  on  the  altar. 
He  watched  it,  as  it  lay  there,  seemingly  prostrate  De- 
fore  him,  and  then  exclaimed  : 

"  My  God  !  my  God !  Thou  hast  abandoned  nie  to 
perdition  !  Must  the  punishment  come  in  this  world, 
as  well  as  in  the  next  ?  Why  afflict  the  innocent  ? 
Why  break  the  heart  of  the  sinless  ?  Why  doom  to 
destruction,  and  why  drive  to  despair  those  who  have 
never  offended  Thee  ?  My  saint-like  Bianca  —  and 
now  too  the  virgin  —  martyr,  Beatrice  !  They  too  are 
doomed  !  And,  what !  O,  misery  and  despair  !  the  wide 
world  must  hear  of  them  and  me.  The  Duke  of  Ba- 
varia comes  to  seek  in  max-riage  my  daughter !  the 
daughter  of  —  O,  God  !  if  he  should  ever  know  whose 
4* 


42  THE  POPE  AND   THE  EMPEEOE. 

daughter  he  wished  to  wed  —  and  why  is  all  this  ?  it  ia 
—  accursed  be  the  day  that  witnessed  it  —  and  accursed 
be  my  lips  that   pronounced  it  —  it  is  because  of  my 

vow  —  THE  vow " 

And  with  these  words,  he  rushed  from  the  oratory, 
and  rode  out  of  the  castle  as  if  a  demon  had  seized  pos- 
session of  him,  and  was  bearing  him  off,  despite  of 
himself,  to  destruction. 


CHAPTER    III. 

THE  SERFS  OF  ASCHAFFENBURG, 

The  morning  following  the  events  described  in  the 
preceding  chapter  was  as  fresh,  as  bright,  as  balmy,  and 
as  full  of  sweetness,  as  a  May  morning  ever  is  in  Fran- 
conia —  earth,  and  air,  and  sky,  and  meadow  land,  and 
forest  green,  with  the  rippling  Aschaff,  and  the  silvery 
Maine,  all  combined  together  to  make  the  heart  of  man 
glad  ;  and  if  that  heart  were  not  thrilled  by  a  contem- 
plation of  the  beauties  of  nature,  it  was  because  it  had 
made  for  itself  an  abode  for  vice,  or  because  it  was  a 
victim  to  the  vices  of  others. 

In  AschafFenburg  we  have  seen  how,  in  the  course  of 
a  few  hours,  one  family  was  plunged  into  grief — and 
that  apparently  one  endowed  with  all  the  blessings  that 
this  world  can  bestow  upon  her  favorite  children  —  how, 
despite  of  riches,  and  of  health  (and  as  far  as  two  at 
least  of  them  were  concerned),  of  virtue  and  innocence, 
sorrow  gnawed  at  their  heart,  and  despair  sat  at  their 
fireside. 


THE   SERFS    OF  ASCHAFFENBURG.  43 

Let  US  turn  then,  from  the  rich  to  the  poor.  It  is 
necessary  that  we  should  do  so  in  pursuing  the  progress 
of  our  tale.  Let  us  leave  not  merely  the  mansions 
where  luxury  abounds,  but  let  us  betake  ourselves  to  a 
hamlet,  where  the  inhabitants  are  so  very  poor,  and  the 
time  in  which  they  live  is  not  yet  twenty  years  beyond 
the  first  half  of  the  eleventh  century  —  that  even  the 
name  of  "  freedom  "  is  unknown  to  them.  Let  us  en- 
treat our  fair  readers  to  accompany  us  to  that  very  spot 
near  which  the  charming  town  of  AschafFenburg  is  now 
situated.  It  is  close  to  the  place  on  which  may  be  seen 
the  confluence  of  the  Aschaff  and  Maine.  It  is  a  hamlet 
of  serfs,  attached  to  the  monastery  which  stands  on  the 
top  of  the  high,  steep  hill  that  overlooks  them,  and  that, 
with  its  thick  walls  and  battlemented  towers,  seems  at 
first  sight  to  be  a  fortress  —  and  so,  in  point  of  fact,  for 
the  purpose  of  defence,  it  is,  as  the  times  of  which  we 
treat,  were  such,  that  the  wealth  bestowed  for  the  ser- 
vice of  the  church,  and  the  benefit  of  the  poor,  was 
never  so  safely  guarded  as  when  it  was  known  that  there 
were  good  swords  and  strong  partisans  ready  to  repel 
its  aggressors. 

For  the  present,  however,  there  was  no  semblance  of 
any  such  spoliating  forrays  ever  having  been  made.  The 
hamlet  of  the  serfs  was  in  the  enjoyment  of  perfect 
peace.  The  men  and  the  women  who  dwelt  in  it  had 
now,  for  some  hours,  descended  from  the  abbey  chapel, 
where  they  had  all  heard  mass  together  —  the  men  had 
then  betaken  themselves  to  the  fields,  or  the  forest,  in 
pursuance  of  their  daily  occupations  ;  and  the  hamlet 
was  alone  occupied  by  women  and  children.  The 
women  were  (what  all  women  nowadays  in  country 
villages  are  not)  well  and  comfortably  clothed,  although 


4.4  THE  rOPE   AND   THE   EMPEROR. 

straw  bonnets  •were  then  unlaio"n'n,  and  cotton  gowns  an 
invention  reserved  for  future  centuries.  In  their  ruddy 
cheeks,  and  round,  smooth  faces,  were  afforded  the  best 
proofs  that  they  had  abundance  of  wholesome  food ; 
while  the  shouts  of  laughter  that  arose  from  the  playing 
groups  of  children  showed  that  they  at  least  were  pre- 
served from  the  pangs  and  tortures  which  large  cities 
and  civilization  have  brought  with  them,  in  modern 
times,  to  unfed,  uncared-for,  or  union-nurtured  infancy. 
The  serfs,  the  serfs'  wives,  and  the  serfs'  children,  were 
perfectly  aware  that,  if  their  harvests  failed,  the  grana- 
ries of  the  monastery  were  well  stocked,  and  that,  as 
surely  as  the  monks  were  provided  with  a  repast,  they 
would  not  be  left  destitute  of  a  dinner.  The  serfs,  too, 
were  assured  that  all  they  had  to  do  was  to  provide  the 
monastery  Avith  that  certain  quantity  of  produce  from 
their  lands,  which  they  had  stipulated  to  give,  and  all 
the  surplus  was  their  own  —  to  change  it  if  they  liked 
into  coin,  or  into  golden  ornaments  for  their  wives,  or 
rich  garments  for  their  daughters.  They  had  not  "  free- 
dom," to  be  sure  ;  but  then  they  knew  not  want,  nor 
cold,  nor  hunger,  nor  poverty  ;  and,  we  grieve  to  add, 
that,  as  far  as  they  thought  on  the  subject  (which  was 
but  little)  they  did  not  even  desire  to  be  "  free  men  ;  " 
for  they  existed  at  a  period  of  the  world's  history  when 
their  enjoyment  of  the  blessings  of  this  life,  and  the 
preservation  of  life  itself  were  both  far  more  secure  for 
him,  who  could,  as  a  serf,  claim  the  protection  of  the 
Lord  Abbot  of  Aschaffenburg  monastery  as  his  "  mas- 
ter," than  he  who  was  poor,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
"  free"  and  "  friendless." 

We  must  not  marvel  then  if  the  hamlet  of  serfs,  at 
such  a  time,  and  upon  a  fine  morning,  in  the  month  of 


THE   SERFS  OF  ASCHAPPENBURG.  45 

May,  was  a  scene  of  quiet  happiness,  and  of  contented 
toil,  nor  —  that  it  should  become  a  spectacle  of  joyous 
and  bustling  preparation  when  the  serfs'  wives  and  chil- 
dren remarked  that  the  venerable  Meginherr,  their  lord 
and  abbot,  was  hobbling  down  the  hill,  evidently  with 
the  intention  of  paying  them  a  visit.  The  moment  this 
news  got  abroad,  there  was  a  fresh  ablution  of  hands 
and  of  faces,  and  detachments  of  girls  brought  in,  as 
prisoners  of  war,  the  struggling  urchins,  whose  "plays" 
had  rendered  another  scrubbing  of  their  rosy  features 
indispensable. 

The  Abbot  Meginherr  was  now  in  his  eightieth  year. 
Of  these  eighty  years,  seventy  had  been  passed  in  the 
monastery  at  the  top  of  the  hill,  and  the  remaining,  or 
rather  the  preceding  ten,  as  a  child  in  the  very  hamlet 
in  which  he  now  walked  ;  for  Meginherr  had  been  the 
son  of  a  serf.  Having  distinguished  himself  as  a  pupil 
in  the  monastery  school  by  his  abilities,  and  proving 
himself,  by  his  piety,  fitted  for  the  priesthood,  he  had 
received  his  freedom  from  the  former  abbot,  and  then 
entering  into  holy  orders,  had  served  in  all  the  offices  of 
the  monastery,  until  he  Avas  at  last  elected  as  its  abbot. 
He  had  known  the  grandsires  and  the  grandames  of 
every  man,  woman,  and  child  in  Aschaffenburg,  and 
therefore  he,  in  the  truest  and  purest  sense  of  the  word, 
regarded  them  all  as  "  his  children  "  —  as  his  children 
to  whom  good  food  and  good  clothing  should  in  the 
first  place  be  supplied  —  as  his  children  for  whose  edu- 
cation he  should  provide,  and  for  whose  spiritual  welfare 
he  should  be  solicitous,  because  he  believed  himself  to 
be  responsible  to  God  for  the  immortal  soul  of  every  one 
amongst  them.  A  profound  scholar,  a  great  divine,  and 
in  the  days  of  his  vigor,  an  almost  inspired  preacher,  he 


46  THE  POPE  AND   THE  EMPEROR. 

knew  not,  and  thouglit  not  of  any  other  place  in  the 
universe  but  AschafFenburg,  and  the  dependencies  on  its 
monastery.  To  him  AschafFenburg  was  every  thing,  for 
there  was  his  allotted  place  in  this  world,  and  upon  it  he 
riveted  his  whole  mind,  and  bestowed  all  his  mental 
gifts  ;  and  labored,  by  all  his  acts,  to  show  how  a  Chris- 
tian should  prepare  to  die. 

This  good  old  man  now  entered  the  serfs'  hamlet,  and 
as  he  passed  along,  women  and  children  knelt  down  to 
receive  his  blessing.  He  proceeded  onward,  luitil  he 
came  to  a  large  tree  in  the  middle  of  the  high  road,  be- 
neath the  spreading  branches  of  which  the  serf-carpenter 
had  constructed  a  species  of  rough,  rustic  arm  chair,  in 
which  Meginherr  seated  himself.  It  was  a  favorite  seat 
with  him,  and  when  he  had  been  dead  and  gone  many  a 
year,  was  still  regarded  by  the  simple  serfs  with  great 
reverence  —  as  a  species  of  relic  of  one,  whom  they  be- 
lieved to  be  a  saint  in  heaven. 

In  this  rude  chair,  the  Abbot  Meginherr  seated  him- 
self, and  there  he  remained  silent  for  a  few  minutes,  ex- 
hausted by  the  toil  of  his  walk,  before  he  addressed  a 
word  to  the  persons  by  whom  he  was  accompanied  — 
these  were  the  prior  of  the  monastery,  two  lay  brothers, 
and  a  tall  man  wearing  the  white,  coarse  robe  of  a  pil- 
grim. The  Abbot  Meginherr  threw  his  cowl  back  from 
his  head  as  he  seated  himself;  but  the  prior,  the  lay 
brothers,  and  the  pilgrim,  all  had  their  faces  concealed 
by  their  deep  hoods. 

"  Stranger,"  said  the  abbot,  first  addressing  himself 
to  the  pilgrim,  "  dost  thou  require  at  this  moment,  food, 
refreshment,  or  spiritual  consolation  ?  " 

*'  No,  good  father,  I  requii-e  nought  pressingly  from 
thee  —  I  can  wait  thy  leisure." 


THE  SERFS   OF  ASCHAFFENBUEG.  47 

"  Pardon  me,  for  not  asking  thee  the  question  before  ; 
but  an  old  man's  tongue  is  not  more  nimble  than  his 
limbs,  and  these  are  such  a  weary  burden,  that  I  have 
scarcely  strength  to  drag  them  along.  I  cannot  speak 
when  I  am  afoot,  and  having  met  thee  on  my  path,  I 
brought  thee  here,  because  it  is  the  first  place  in  which 
I  could  put  the  question  to  thee." 

"  I  thank  thee,  father,"  answered  the  pilgrim,  "  for 
thy  kindness  ;  but  what  I  have  to  say  to  thee  can  be  as 
well  told  to-morrow  as  to-day." 

"  Then  in  that  case  I  shall  make  thee,  meanwhile, 
witness  of  a  joyful  sight.  Halloa  !  where  is  my  grand- 
nephew —  the  little  flaxen-haired  Meginherr?  Come 
hither,  sirrah !  Now,  look  at  that  urchin.  Sir  Pilgrim. 
Are  not  his  cheeks  shamefully  red  —  and  mark  you  how 
the  rogue  smiles.  He  is  not  more  than  eight  years  of 
age,  and  I  grieve  to  say  it,  that  he  can  say  his  pater,  and 
ave,  and  credo  in  Latin,  as  perfectly  as  if  he  were  a 
bishop  —  and  sui'e  I  am,  more  acceptably  to  heaven, 
than  if  he  were  an  abbot.  See — the  rogue's  cheeks 
are  becoming  more  disgracefully  red  than  they  were  be- 
fore, because  I  praise  him.  Come  hither,  child,  and  kiss 
your  poor  old  kinsman.  And  now,  boy,  take  all  the 
children  of  the  village  with  you  to  the  forest,  and  these 
two  good  brothers,  who  have  got  with  them  an  enor- 
mous basket  filled  with  snow-white  new  bread,  and  fresh 
butter,  and  jars  of  cream,  and  more  dates,  and  plums, 
and  dried  grapes,  than  you  and  all  your  companions  can 
devour  between  this  and  sunset.  Away  then  with  ye, 
boys  and  girls,  all  to  the  forest  —  but  mind,  I  shall  ex- 
pect that  one  portion  of  your  play  shall  be  to  gather  the 
sweet  wild  flowers,  and  weave  them  into  garlands,  that 
you  may  bring  them  to  the  abbey  church  in  the  morn- 


48  THE  POPE   AND   THE  EMPEROR. 

ing,  and  place  them  on  the  altar  of  the  Th'gin  — •  I  shall 
look  upon  every  one  of  them  as  your  little  prayers  for 
her  intercession  during  this  day,  and  to-morroAv,  and  all 
the  days  of  your  lives.  Away,  Meginherr  —  away,  boys 
—  away,  girls  —  away  to  the  forest  —  have  a  merry  day 
of  it  —  be  good,  and  you  will  be  happy  —  away ! 
away !" 

"  Away !  away  !  to  the  forest  "  were  the  words  that 
now  rang  sharply  through  the  air,  as  they  came  forth, 
in  the  shrill,  chirping  joyous  tones  of  childhood. 

"  Away !  away  !  to  the  forest  "  were  repeated  in  the 
deep  base  of  the  two  lay  brothers,  as  they  hurried  after 
the  galloping  groups  of  children,  and  scarcely  able  to 
disguise  the  joy  they  felt,  in  thinking  of  the  happy  day 
before  them  —  that  of  promoting  the  sports  of  the  chil- 
dren, and  of  protecting  them  from  the  possibility  of  any 
accident  occurring  to  them. 

The  Abbot  Meginherr  listened  with  intense  delight 
to  those  joyous  sounds.  He  smiled  to  see  the  children 
laugh,  and  his  eyes  filled  with  tears  of  pleasure,  when 
their  merry,  and  to  him  most  musical,  huzzas  !  reached 
his  ears.  He  turned  his  head  in  the  direction  which 
the  children  were  taking,  and  in  that  attitude  he  re- 
mained as  long  as  he  could  detect  a  single  sound  from 
the  infantine  band  that  had  so  lately  clustered  around 
him. 

While  he  was  thus  occupied,  there  advanced  towards 
where  he  sat,  a  tall,  thin  man,  whose  skin  seemed  to  be, 
from  constant  exposure  to  the  weather,  of  the  same  tex- 
ture and  hue  as  tanned  leather.  This  man's  garments 
were  composed  of  a  leathern  jerkin,  over  which  were 
fastened,  as  if  they  were  a  robe,  the  skins  of  two  wolves 
strongly  stitched  together,  and  confined  at  the  waist  by 


THE   SERFS   OF   ASCHAFFENBURG.  49 

a  bi'oad  belt  of  leather,  from  which  depencled  a  short 
sword  and  a  scrip,  and  in  which  was  fastened  a  dagger ; 
whilst  at  his  back  was  a  quiver  of  arrows,  and  in  his 
right  hand  a  stout  bow.  His  feet  were  garnished  with 
sandals,  but  he  wore  nothing  on  his  head  to  protect  him 
from  the  inclemency  of  the  seasons.  He  advanced 
towards  the  abbot,  for  the  purpose  of  addressing  him, 
when  he  was  intercepted  by  the  prior,  who  said  to  him  : 

"  Well,  Bernhard,  what  brings  thee,  at  this  time  of 
day,  idling  in  the  hamlet,  when  it  is  thy  duty  to  be  in 
the  forest  ?  Dost  thou  too  wish  to  waste  our  means  in 
playing  the  truant  ?  " 

"  Xo,  Sir  Prior,  I  am  no  idler.  ^ly  lord,  the  abbot, 
never  called  me  so.  I  come  hither,  because  I  have  been 
performing  ray  duty  as  a  forester." 

"  I  do  not  understand  thee,  Bernhard.  How  can  thy 
duty  in  the  forest  bring  thee  here  ?  " 

"  Because,  Sir  Prior,  I  have  seen  strange  things  in  the 
forest ;  the  knowledge  of  which  I  do  not  think  should 
be  confined  to  myself." 

"  Ho  !  some  idle  tale,  I  warrant  —  some  flimsy  excuse 
which  may  impose  upon  the  weakness  of  a  poor,  old, 
doting  man." 

"  I  am,  Sir  Prior,  the  serf  of  the  lord  abbot  —  not 
thine.  He  shall  judge  my  actions ;  and,  if  he  is  as 
harsh  as  thou  art,  I  shall  willingly  submit  to  his  sen- 
tence. It  will,  I  know,  be  that  of  a  father,  who  may, 
hoAvever  kindly  disposed,  yet  mistakenly,  severely  punish 
his  child.  With  thy  permission  I  shall  S2:)eak  to  the 
abbot." 

So  answered  the  sturdy  forester  to  the  prior,  and  then 
advancing  to  where  the  abbot  still  sat,  he  knelt  down, 
and  kissing  his  hand,  said  — - 
5 


50  THE  POPE   AND  THE   EMPEROR. 

*'  Father  Abbot,  thy  blessing  upon  thy  unworthy 
child." 

"  God  bless  thee,  Bernhard,"  replied  the  abbot,  lay- 
ing his  hand  upon  the  head  of  his  serf ;  "  for  thou  hast 
ever  been  a  good  and  faithful  servant.  What  news  from 
the  forest,  my  son  ?  " 

''  Strange  news.  Father  Abbot,"  said  Bernhard,  stand- 
ing up  ;  "  strange  and  curious  news.  Last  night,  whilst 
I  was  on  the  watch  in  the  forest  —  I  saw  —  descending 
from  a  tree  —  the  beech  tree,  the  branches  of  which 
overhang  the  Aschaff —  you  know  the  place  I  speak  of, 
father  ?  " 

"  I  do,  my  son  —  proceed." 

"  I  saw  there  a  man  descending  from  the  beech  tree 
—  I  thought  he  was  a  thief,  who  had  come  to  steal  some 
of  our  venison,  father,  and  I  therefore  kept  a  sharp  eye 
upon  him.  That  which  appeared  very  strange  to  me, 
however,  was  that  though  his  jerkin  was  of  green,  it 
was  of  the  richest  make ;  and  what  was  still  more  curi- 
ous, his  face  was  blackened.  He  seemed  to  me  to  be 
waiting  for  some  person.  In  that  conjecture  I  was  cor- 
rect. In  a  short  time  one  dressed  precisely  as  himself, 
and  also  with  blackened  face,  joined  him.  They  spoke 
a  few  words  ;  but  what  they  said  I  could  not  hear,  and 
then  proceeded  together  to  the  creek,  where  a  boat  was 
in  waiting  for  them.  That  boat  I  could  perceive  was 
manned  by  ten  men,  and  no  sooner  had  these  strangers 
entered  it,  than  it  was  rowed  rapidly  away,  and  soon 
disappeared  from  my  sight.  I  have  looked  carefully 
round  the  forest  this  morning  —  I  can  find  no  traces  of 
any  snares  having  been  set.  Whatever  has  brought  these 
strangers  so  near  to  the  monastery,  it  certainly  is  not 
(and  that  I  am  sure  of)  in  pursuit  of  game.     1  deemed 


THE   SEEPS   OP   ASCHAFPEN-BUEG.  51 

it  then  to  be  my  duty  to  come  here  and  tell  thee  what  I 
had  seen." 

''Thou  didst  quite  right,  my  child.  Nay,  it  would 
have  been  wrong  in  thee  to  have  concealed  from  me  the 
knowledge  of  these  things.  They  are,  in  truth,  strange 
—  passing  strange  —  I  cannot  divine  what  they  signify. 
What  think  you  of  them.  Sir  Prior  ?  " 

"  I  think,  good  father,  that  our  watchful  forester  has 
fallen  asleep,  that  he  has  had  a  strange  dream,  and  that 
instead  of  stopping  in  the  dull  forest  all  this  day,  he  has 
come  to  the  hamlet  to  amuse  us,  and  —  himself,  by 
narrating  his  vision,"  was  the  sarcastic  answer  of  the 
prior. 

"  As  I  am  a  living  and  a  walking  man  at  this  mo- 
ment, so  was  I  living  and  walking  all  last  night  in  the 
forest,  and  saw  all  the  things  which  I  have  this  moment 
stated,"  said  Bernhard. 

"  AVhat  thinkest  thou.  Sir  Pilgrim  ?  "  asked  the  abbot. 
"  One  like  thee,  who  has  seen  many  strange  lands,  must 
better  judge  of  such  a  wondrous  tale  than  I  can." 

"  I  think,"  replied  the  pilgrim,  "  that  the  forester  has 
told  the  truth.  I  think  the  intelligence  he  gives  may  be 
turned  to  good  account ;  for  those  he  has  seen  may  be 
preparing  not  to  despoil  the  monastery  of  a  few  deer, 
but  its  altars  of  their  richest  ornaments  ;  and  if  I  might 
venture  to  advise  thee,  I  would  say  that  not  a  moment 
should  be  lost  in  putting  the  monastery  in  a  state  of 
defence.     These  may  be  spies  from  a  hostile  army." 

"  But  we  have  no  intelligence  of  any  foes  .being  in 
our  land.  This  is  Franconia,  and  not  Saxony.  We  all 
love  and  obey  King  Henry  here ;  and  we  have  not,  like 
the  Saxons,  tumultuous  serfs,  who  say  they  are  freemen; 
nor  rebellious  nobles,  who  will  not  permit  themselves  to 


52  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR, 

be  governed  as  the  king  chooses ;  nor  have  ^ve  yet 
heard  of  a  Franconian  bishop  presuming  to  speak,  Hke 
the  proud  prelate  of  Halberstadt,  of  the  rights  and  hb- 
erties  of  the  church,  as  opposed  to  the  privileges  and 
prerogatives  of  the  sovereign.  Why  then  should  we 
be  apprehensive  of  danger  ? "  asked  the  prior. 

"  For  the  same  reason  that  the  hen  in  the  farm  yard 
is  apprehensive  for  the  safety  of  her  chickens,  when  she 
beholds  the  kite  permitted,  with  impunity,  to  rifle  the 
dovecot,"  was  the  reply  of  the  pilgrim.  "  Ye  may  con- 
sider yourselves  safe,  because  ye  have  not  been  attacked ; 
but  calculate  not  upon  the  duration  of  any  such  safety, 
if  it  is  dependent  upon  the  opinion  of  those  disposed  to 
do  evil,  and  who  may  regard  you,  not  as  strong,  but  so 
weak  as  to  be  contemptible.  Ye  may  not  have  been 
oppressed  as  Saxony  has  been,  because  it  may  have 
been  believed  that  your  oppression  was  practicable  at 
any  moment.  If  ye  would  secure  yourselves  from  dan- 
ger, prove  that  you  have  the  power  of  punishing  those 
who  do  you  wrong." 

"  The  advice  you  give.  Sir  Pilgrim,"  said  the  abbot, 
**  is  that  of  an  honest,  a  wise,  and  a  brave  man,  and  it 
shall  be  followed  by  me.  Hasten,  then,  my  dear  brother 
and  prior,  to  the  monastery  ;  summon  instantly  all  our 
armed  retainers  to  our  aid  ;  see  that  the  walls  be  manned. 
We  have  provision  enough  within  our  granaries,  and 
our  foes  shall  find  —  but  God  forbid  that  avc  have  any  ! 
that  the  old  walls,  and  the  brave  hearts  of  the  monks 
and  laymen  in  Aschaffcnburg  monastery  can  withstand 
not  only  a  vigorous  assault,  but  a  lengthened  siege.  Go, 
Sir  Prior  —  go  at  once,  and  heaven's  blessing  go  with 
thee." 

"  I  go.  Father  Abbot,"  replied  the  prior,  muttering 


THE  SEEFS   OP   ASCHAFFENBURG.  53 

as  he  went,  "  more  wasteful  and  useless  expenditure  ! 
"What  a  consumption  of  our  choice  wine  and  our  best 
viands  upon  these  military  retainers,  as  long  as  they 
garrison  our  monastery  !  And  then,  there  is  the  loss  of 
money  upon  military  preparations  !  —  money  —  money  ! 
—  and  /  want  it  all  —  all  —  all.  A  plague  upon  this 
pilgrim  —  a  plague  too  upon  this  old,  undying  abbot  — 
spendthrift  and  wastepurse  as  he  is  !  " 

With  such  thoughts  in  his  mind,  rather  than  with 
such  expressions  in  his  mouth,  the  prior  hastened  up 
the  hill  towards  the  monastery. 

The  old  abbot  smiled,  and  thought  to  himself — 

"  A  good  man  —  a  very  good  man  is  our  prior ;  but 
too  anxious  for  the  mere  temporal  prosperity  of  the 
monastery.  He  is  moved  to  that  by  an  excellent  mo- 
tive, doubtless.  Ah,  yes  !  despite  his  rough  nature,  he 
is  a  truly  pious  man  ;  and  when  he  shall  have  to  look 
upon  all  here  as  his  children,  as  I  do,  I  have  little 
doubt  he  will  be  an  excellent  and  even  compassionate 
father  to  them.  I  was  not  as  careful  a  prior  as  he  is, 
and  I  am  sure  he  will  be  a  better  abbot  than  I  am.  But 
I  pray  your  pardon.  Sir  Pilgrim,  for  not  being  more 
attentive  to  thee.  Thou  seest  how  my  time  has  been 
occupied  by  the  various  matters  pertaining  to  my  happi- 
ness, and  the  discharge  of  my  duty  as  abbot.  What, 
may  I  ask  thee,  is  the  last  shrine  thou  hast  visited  ? " 

"  The  last  shrine.  Father  Abbot,  that  I  visited,  is  the 
greatest  upon  this  earth  —  it  is  the  land  which  may  be 
regarded  as  all  one  shrine ;  for  its  soil,  its  waters,  its 
hills,  its  groves,  and  its  city,  were  the  scenes  of  the 
birth,  life,  labors,  sufferings,  death,  and  resurrection 
of  our  Savior." 

*'  What !  then,  thou  hast  been  in  the  Holy  Land  ?  " 
5* 


54  THE   POPE   AXD   THE   EMPEROR. 

"I  have,  father." 

"  O,  happy  —  thrice  happy  man!  And,  O,  how  our 
temporal  attachments  chng  to  us  !  I  woukl  inquire  of 
thee  if  in  thy  pilgrimage  thou  didst  encovinter  a  monk 
of  mine,  —  a  good  youth  he  was,  —  Lambert,  the  monk 
of  AschafFenburg  ?  "  asked  the  abbot,  eagerly. 

"  I  did,  father,"  said  the  pilgrim  ;  "  he  is  living  — 
he  is  well  —  and  may  be  daily  expected  home.  I  knew 
him  well,  father  ;  and  have  often  heard  him  express  his 
anxious  desire  to  return,  in  the  hope  he  may  see  you 
lining  and  strong,  and  that  you  may,  in  your  goodness, 
pronounce  your  pardon  upon  him  for  presuming  to  pro- 
ceed on  his  pilgrimage  without  having  first  obtained 
your  blessing." 

"  Alas,  poor  Lambert  !  "  said  the  old  abbot,  bursting 
into  tears,  "  I  have  prayed  daily  for  him  since  he  de- 
parted. And  now,  good  pilgrim,  I  pray  of  you,  should 
I  die  before  Lambert  does  return  —  that  I  accept  through 
your  lips  his  expressed  intention  of  asking  for  my  for- 
giveness ;  and  that  I  now  declare  him  absolved  from  the 
sin  of  disobedience  —  that  I  not  only  pardon  him,  but 
bestow  upon  him  the  kiss  of  peace,  and  pronounce  a 
special  blessing  upon  him.  All  this  you  will  say  to 
him,  in  case  it  should  not  please  God,  that  I  again  see 
him  in  the  body." 

"  All  this  shall,  if  life  be  sj^arcd  to  me,  be  told  to 
Lambert,"  said  the  pilgrim. 

"  Wilt  thou,"  continued  the  abbot,  "  to  this  favor 
add  another  ?  Wilt  thou  not  only  pardon  but  gratify 
an  old  man's  curiosity,  who,  until  now,  has  never  spokeu 
with  any  one  who  has  visited  Jerusalem  ?  " 

"  Most  willingly,  father,"  replied  the  pilgrim  ;  ''  and 
as  I  believe  it  will  increase    thy  pleasure  if  there  be 


THE  RESCUE  AND  RECAPTURE.  55 

Other  listeners  tlian  thyself,  thou  canst,  if  thou  •svishest 
it,  have  all  the  women  in  the  hamlet  around  thee  to 
hear  the  tale." 

"  Thanks,"  joyously  exclaimed  the  abbot  —  "a  thou- 
sand thanks,  good  pilgrim  —  thou  dost  indeed  know  the 
secret  of  the  old  abbot's  heart — that  he  can  have  no 
real  pleasure  in  this  world,  if  it  is  not  partaken  by  liis 
children.  All  the  women  —  sayest  thou  ?  Nay,  we 
we  will  have  all  the  men  of  the  hamlet  too.  Sound, 
honest  Bernhard,  thy  horn  —  give  forth  the  notes,  by 
which  the  men  may  know  they  are  on  the  instant  to 
return  to  the  hamlet." 

Bernhard  readily  complied  with  such  a  command. 
The  discordant  notes  of  the  horn  speedily  wakened  up 
from  their  toil  all  the  serfs  ;  and  in  a  few  minutes  after- 
wards they  were  to  be  seen  running  on  all  sides  towards 
the  place  of  their  abode.  Each  man,  as  he  arrived, 
knelt  before  the  abbot,  and  received  his  benediction. 

Meanwhile  the  women  had  brought  out  stools  and 
benches,  and  tables  ;  and  there,  seated  around  the  abbot 
and  the  pilgrim,  they  patiently  waited  to  hear,  not  "  the 
latest  news,"  but  the  first  news  that  had  ever  been 
brought  directly  to  them  from  Palestine. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

THE  RESCUE  AND  RECAPTURE. 

It  was  a  goodly  sight  to  look  upon  —  the  fiice  of  that 
venerable,  white-haired,  feeble,  octogenarian   abbot,  as 


56  THE  POPE   AND   THE  EMPEROR. 

he  sat  in  his  rustic  chair,  shaded  from  the  warm  sun- 
shine by  the  branches  of  the  wide-spreading  tree,  and 
gazing  upon  the  faces  of  his  contented  dependants, 
whose  eyes  were  lighted  up  with  love  and  reverence 
for  him,  and  whose  lively,  noiseless  attitudes  demon- 
strated with  what  intense  curiosity  they  awaited  the 
tidings  of  that  holy  land,  of  which  they  had  so  often 
heard  before,  but  never  until  now  had  hoped  to  see  one 
by  whom  it  had  been  visited.   " 

"  My  children,"  said  the  abbot,  "  before  this  good 
pilgrim  begins  the  narrative,  I  wish  you  to  bear  in  mind, 
that  you  are  to  be  no  losers,  by  so  readily  coming  round 
me  at  my  call.  You  are  here  in  obedience  to  me  ;  and 
therefore  I  intend,  when  I  return  to  the  monastery,  to 
have  it  notified  that  you  are  all  to  be  accounted  as  hav- 
ing done  an  entire  day's  work  for  me,  and  you  must 
each  obtain  the  full  reward  for  it.  No  thanks,  —  no 
thanks,  my  dear  children,  but  say  at  your  prayers  to- 
night one  additional  ave  on  behalf  of  a  weak  and  err- 
ing old  man,  who  must  speedily  be  removed  from 
amongst  you.  And  now.  Sir  Pilgrim,  proceed  with 
your  narration  of  the  pilgrimage  to  Jerusalem." 

"  I  believe.  Father  Abbot,"  said  the  pilgrim,  "  that 
there  never  was,  since  the  first  days  that  the  blessed 
Boniface  brought  from  England  to  Germany  the  glad 
tidings  of  salvation,  such  a  magnificent  sight  belield  as 
that  which  the  City  of  Mayence  and  its  environs  pre- 
sented in  the  autumn  of  the  year  1064." 

The  pilgrim's  tale  was  here  abruptly  brought  to  a 
close,  by  loud,  piercing  shrieks  that  came  from  out  of 
the  depths  of  the  forest, -which,  though  distant,  were  so 
expressive  of  fear  and  horror,  that  the  stoutest  hcai't 
quailed  at  their  sound. 


THE  KESCUB  AND   RECAPTURE.  5T 

The  serfs  started  to  their  feet  with  terror,  and  looked 
in  each  other's  faces,  affrighted  to  find  upon  all  the 
same  expression  of  vague  apprehension  and  dismay. 

"  Good  Lord  protect  us  !  "  said  the  Abbot  Meginherr, 
who  was  the  first  to  speak ;  "  what  can  be  the  meaning 
of  all  this  !  " 

"  It  means,"  said  the  pilgrim,  "  that  some  scandalous 
outrage  is  committing,  —  that  here,  as  elsewhere,  the 
strong  arm  is  oppressing  the  weak,  —  that  brutal  ruf- 
fianism, combined  with  power,  is  glutting  its  will  in 
the  agonies  of  its  victims*  I  know  the  sounds  well  — 
I  have  often  heard  them  before,  and  never  did  they 
reach  my  ear,  that  I  did  not  thank  my  God  that  I  was 
a  Christian,  a  man,  and  a  soldier.  But  this  is  not  a 
time  for  surmises,  but  for  deeds.  Away,  ye  serfs,  to 
your  huts  —  seize  your  swords,  or  if  you  have  not 
swords,  any  thing  that  has  an  edge  and  a  point,  for  the 
head  and  heart  of  a  villain.  And  you,  Bernhard  —  you 
who  can  track  the  wolf,  and  front  him  boldly  too,  now 
hie  thee  to  the  forest,  and  bring  us  speedily  intelli- 
gence where  we  may  fight  for  virtue,  and  against  vil- 
lany  ;  and  should  the  opportunity  offer,  hesitate  not  to 
bring  us  back  the  head  of  a  human  wolf." 

"  No  blood  —  no  blood  —  I  will  have  no  blood  of 
man  shed,  by  serf  of  mine,"  said  the  Abbot  .Meginherr. 

"  No,  father,"  answered  the  pilgrim,  and  assuming,  in 
such  a  conjuncture  as  this,  that  which  had  plainly  been 
his  ancient  habit  of  command  in  warfare  ;  "  no  —  not  a 
single  drop  —  not  as  much  as  an  angry  cat's  claw  would 
elicit  from  the  chubby  finger  of  a  wanton,  playsome 
urchin  ;  except  it  be  in  defence  of  Christianity,  the 
church,  innocence,  or  morality  —  of  the  wives,  the  chil- 
di"en,  and  the  homes  of  your  serfs.     But,  if  the  serpent 


58  THE   POPE  AND   THE   EMPEROR. 

•will  attack  you,  and  the  wild  beast  fly  at  you  —  I  care 
not  whether  he  wear  mottled  skm,  or  iron-shelled  jer- 
kin, or  appear  before  me  with  head  of  shaggy  hair,  or 
shining  helmet  —  excuse  me,  father,  if,  in  my  own  de- 
fence and  yours  —  I  maim  or  massacre  him  outright." 

"  Sir  Pilgrim,"  said  the  abbot,  "  I  perceive  that  thou 
art  a  soldier ;  and  if,  as  thou  sayest,  my  peaceful  people 
are  unjustly  attacked,  I  intrust  their  defence  to  thee. 
In  the  absence  of  my  knights,  I  give  to  thee,  on  this 
occasion,  the  command  over  my  serfs.  God  grant  that 
I  may  have  only  to  admire  thy  courage,  without  having 
to  witness  thy  prowess  !  " 

Such  was  the  prayer  of  the  Abbot  Meginherr  :  but  it 
was  not  destined  to  be  fulfilled  ;  for,  whilst  he  spoke, 
and  even  before  the  forester,  Bernhard,  could  have  pro- 
ceeded a  bowshot  distance  from  the  pilgrim,  there  was 
witnessed  a  scence  which  held  abbot,  and  pilgrim,  and 
Bernhard  breathless. 

Issuing  out  of  the  forest,  and  pushing  her  fleet  and 
light-limbed  palfrey  up  the  steep  hill  towards  the  mon- 
astery, a  young  female  appeared.  She  was  followed  by 
about  twenty  horsemen  —  all  dressed  in  green,  and  all 
wearing  helmets,  undecorated  with  plumage  or  orna- 
ment of  any  description,  but  glistening  as  if  they  were 
composed  of  molten  silver  —  all  had  light  spears, 
shields,  and  short  swords  ;  and  the  horses  that  they 
rode  seemed  to  have  been  selected  more  from  their  speed 
than  their  strength.  As  long  as  the  pursuers  and  the 
pursued  were  upon  the  level  soil,  the  latter,  cither  from 
the  superior  speed  of  her  palfrey,  or  her  better  knowl- 
edge of  the  ground,  had  the  advantage  ;  but  of  those 
advantages  she  was  manifestly  deprived  when  she  began 
to  ascend  the  acclivity. 


THE  RESCUE   AND   EECAPTURE.  59 

"  The  female,  whoever  she  is,  is  seeking  sanctuary  in 
the  monastery,"  observed  the  abbot. 

"  She  is  seeking  protection  for  her  innocence  against 
ruffian  violence,"  remarked  the  pilgrim  ;  "  but  that,  her 
steed  will  never  win  for  her.  Her  fate  is  inevitable.  I 
know  not  who  she  may  be ;  but  I  can  tell  her  destiny." 

"  Then  thou  art  a  magician  !  "  remarked  Bernhard, 
shrinking  back  from  the  side  of  the  x^ilgrini,  to  which 
he  had  returned. 

"  No,  Bernhard ;  but  I  am  a  luan  who  has  eyes  to 
see,  and  ears  to  hear  with,  and  who  can  reason  upon 
what  I  both  see  and  hear.  I  know  these  men  by  their 
helmets  —  they  are  the  horsemen  of  Worms  —  those 
who  call  themselves  the  body-guards  of  King  Henry  — 
the  panders  to  his  vices,  and  the  ready  instruments  of  all 
his  passions.  This  female,  although  I  cannot  recognize 
at  this  distance  a  feature  in  her  face,  is,  I  can  tell  thee, 
young  and  beautiful  —  as  young,  but  not,  I  am  sure,  as 
beautiful  as  her  of  whom  those  golden-shaded  hairs  re- 
mind me  —  and  she  has  had  the  misfortune  of  being 
seen  and  admired  by  King  Henry  himself,  or  by  one  of 
his  myrmidons,  and  they  are  now  in  pursuit  of  her  to 
capture  a  new  victim  for  his  brutality.  But  see  —  it  is 
as  I  told  you  —  they  are  before  and  behind  her  !  And 
O  I  —  look  !  she  stops  her  steed  in  despair  —  and  now, 
—  good  heavens  !  she  is  fainting  —  she  will  be  killed  by 
fallinar  from  her  horse !  Alas !  alas !  that  such  deeds 
should  be  done  in  the  face  of  day  —  and  that  heaven 
can  permit  them,  since  man  has  neither  the  strength  to 
prevent,  nor  the  power  to  punish  them." 

"  Thou  art  wrong.  Sir  Pilgrim,"  said  Bernhard,  "  the 
lady  has  not  fallen  to  the  earth ;  she  has  been  caught 
by  two  of  the  horsemen.     And  now,  see,  they  have  all 


60  THE  POPE   AND   THE   EMPEROR. 

clustered  In  a  body  around  her ;  they  are,  I  suppose, 
consulting  what  they  will  do.  They  will  not  bring  her 
to  the  monastery,  that  is  certain ;  for  the  heads  of  all 
are  turned  away  from  it  —  and  see,  they  are  now  guiding 
her  in  tliis  direction.  Observe  them  now  arranging 
themselves  like  a  squadron,  four  abreast ;  and  as  sure  as 
I  am  a  forester,  they  are  conveying  their  captive  hither- 
wards,  and  will  march  her  straight  through  the  hamlet." 

"  And  wherefore  through  the  hamlet,  Bernhard  ? 
Can  they  hope  to  be  received  here  as  friends  ?  "  inquired 
the  pilgrim. 

"  No,  no,"  answered  the  forester.  "  We  know  nought 
here  of  the  citizens  of  Worms,  of  their  pranks,  or  their, 
crimes  ;  but  they  conduct  her  through  this  hamlet  be- 
cause it  is  the  straight  road  to  the  river,  where,  if  thou 
wilt  turn  thy  eyes,  thou  mayest  perceive  there  are  sev- 
eral strange  boats  now  lying." 

"  Poor  creature  !  poor  innocent  and  unoffending  vic- 
tim !  "  exclaimed  the  pilgrim.  "  But  one  last,  desperate 
effort  can  be  made  on  thy  behalf.  Have  I  thy  permis- 
sion. Father  Abbot,  to  make  it,  and  to  save  thy  territory 
from  the  reproach  that  so  scandalous  an  outrage  as  this 
can  be  committed  upon  it,  with  impunity  ? " 

"  Thou  hast  my  full  permission,  sanction,  and  authori- 
ty," said  the  abbot.  "  To  rescue  virtue  from  the  fangs 
of  vice  is  a  duty  imposed  upon  every  Christian,  and  to 
shrink  from  performing  it  is  to  be  gmlty  of  a  grievous 
sin.  Whilst  then  thou  usest  the  arm  of  the  flesh,  I 
will  contend  for  thee  by  prayer  —  humble  prayer,  that 
God  may  be  pleased  to  reward  thy  valor  with  victory  — 
and  that  thy  virtue  may  be  crowned  with  glory  both  in 
this  world  and  the  next." 

And  so  saying  the  feeble  old  man  arose  —  knelt  down 


THE  EESCUE  AND   RECAPTURE.  61 

before  the  chair  on  which  he  had  previously  been  sitting 
—  detached  his  crucifix  from  his  girdle,  and  placing  it 
erect  before  him  on  the  chair,  and  clasped  between  his 
two  hands,  he  was  soon  so  lost  in  prayer  and  meditation, 
that  every  circumstance  that  subsequently  occurred  was 
alike  unheard  and  unregarded  by  him. 

"  Bernhard,"  said  the  pilgrim,  "  on  thy  coolness  and 
steadiness,  I  place  my  main  reliance  for  success  in  the 
coming  struggle.  Hast  thou  a  quick  eye  and  a  firm 
nerve  ?  " 

"  Since  I  was  a  boy,  I  never  yet  missed  what  I  aimed 
at.  I  can  wait  for  the  wolf  until  he  is  within  two  yards 
of  me,"  was  the  brief  answer  of  Bernhard. 

"  That  is  well,"  said  the  pilgrim,  "  and  now  mark 
what  I  say  to  thee.  Let  this  body  of  horsemen  come 
within  twenty  yards  of  thee.  There,"  said  he,  pointing 
to  a  hut  which  advanced  some  distance  into  the  road, 
and,  with  a  projecting  buttress  upon  the  outer  side,  made 
the  path  at  that  spot  more  narrow  and  confined  than  in 
any  other  portion  of  the  hamlet.  "^  There — when  the 
horseman,  who  rides  in  the  centre  of  the  group,  and  on 
the  right  hand  of  the  female,  reaches  that  spot,  take  aim 
at  him,  at  whatever  thou  likest  best,  heart,  visage,  or 
helmet,  but  let  it  be  such  an  aim  as  that  thy  arrow  will 
be  sure  to  unhorse  him  —  do  this  when  thou  hearest  me 
say,  '  the  Lord  have  mercy  on  thy  soul '  —  count  then 
three,  slowly  to  thyself,  and  let  thy  arrow  go.  What- 
ever else  occur,  get  thou  quickly  by  my  side,  draw  thy 
stout  sword,  fancy  thou  hast  not  men  before  thee,  but 
Avild  beasts,  for  they  are  ivild  beasts,  and  cut  them  down 
as  quickly  as  thou  canst ;  be  S'ure  that  the  more  of  their 
blood  thou  sheddest,  the  less  of  foul  crimes  wilt  thou 
leave  upon  the  fair  face  of  God's  earth." 
6 


62  THE  POPE   AND   THE   EMPEROR. 

Bernhard  disappeared  from  the  side  of  the  pilgrim, 
who  saw  himself  now  surrounded  by  all  the  men  and 
women  of  the  hamlet. 

"  Women,"  said  the  pilgrim,  "  fly  ye  out  of  the  ham- 
let. You  can  do  no  good  here,  and  may  occasion  much 
harm,  if  the  rude  soldiers,  who  are  about  to  pass  here, 
should  see  your  fair  itices.  It  might  cause  you  to  be 
torn  away  from  father,  mother,  husband,  brother,  lover, 
or  children.  Should  you  hear  the  sounds  of  a  combat, 
do  not  appear,  until  there  is  no  other  cry  coming  forth 
than  the  sad  wailing  of  wounded  men.  Then  there  ye 
will  be  wanted,  and  then  only  your  presence  can  be  use- 
ful to  friend  or  foe.  Away,  then,  and  hide  yourselves, 
where  best  you  can,  fiom  the  sight  of  a  ribald  soldiery.'* 

These  orders  were  obeyed.  The  pilgrim  then  looked 
to  see  how  his  new  soldiers  were  arrayed.  He  found 
that  a  foAV  had  swords,  others  hatchets,  others  forks, 
others  spears,  others  reaping  hooks,  and  that  two  or 
three  stout  young  fellows  had  brought  out  ploughshares. 
These  men  he  planted,  some  behind  the  walls  of  the 
projecting  houses,  so  as  not  to  be  visible  to  the  horse- 
men when  advancing  from  the  opposite  side  of  the  ham- 
let ;  and  others  he  placed  in  the  houses  out  of  view,  and 
to  all  he  gave  his  commands,  in  these  few  brief  words  : 

"My  brave  men  of  Aschaffenburg,  I  am  sorry  to 
place  such  stout  soldiers  as  you  are  out  of  the  view  of 
an  enemy,  but  the  truth  is,  that  badly  equipped  as  you 
are,  a  thousand  of  you  could  not  withstand,  for  two 
minutes,  the  solid  charge  of  twenty  experienced  horse- 
men, armed  with  spears.  Our  only  chance  with  them 
is  for  you  to  attack  them  unexpectedly  from  all  sides, 
back  and  front,  sides  and  rear  ;  but  mind,  not  a  man  of 
you  is  to  stir  until  you  see  one  of  their  men  unhorsed. 


THE  RESCUE  AND   RECAPTURE.  63 

The  moment  that  occurs,  rush  at  them ;  do  not  try  to 
strike  a  man  of  them  in  the  breast,  for  there  you  will 
only  be  liammering  or  probing  at  a  cuirass ;  aim  as  well 
as  you  can  at  theu-  faces,  and  if  you  are  not  tall  enough 
for  that,  then  at  their  stomachs,  and  if  you  cannot  do 
that,  try  and  hamstring  their  horses.  You  are  not  to 
strike  a  blow  until  you  see  one  horseman  down ;  but  the 
instant  you  see  that,  then  stab,  hackle,  cut,  and  slash 
away  at  them  until  you  get  them  all  down.  And  now 
away,  for  they  are  fast  approaching  us." 

The  ready,  lightsome,  cheerful,  and  punctual  spirit 
with  which  the  pilgrim  observed  his  orders  were  ful- 
filled, inspired  him  with  an  almost  confident  hope  that 
the  effort  which  he  was  about  to  make  would  be  crowned 
with  success. 

In  a  few  minutes  he  saw  the  horsemen  entering  the 
village,  and  he,  at  the  same  instant,  perceived  that  not 
only  the  face,  but  nearly  the  figure  of  the  female  was 
completely  concealed  by  a  robe  which,  fashioned  like  a 
monk's  habit,  covered  her  face  with  its  cowl,  and  dis- 
guised the  garments  worn  beneath  by  its  ample  folds 
His  practised  eye  showed  him,  too,  that  the  preparations 
he  had  been  making  for  their  reception  had  not  alto- 
gether escaped  the  notice  of  the  horsemen,  for  they 
advanced  slowly  and  steadily,  and  in  perfect  order,  and 
each  man  firmly  grasping  his  spear,  as  if  prepared  to 
make  a  charge  upon  any  body  of  persons  that  might  be 
arrayed  against  them  for  the  purpose  of  impeding  their 
march. 

The  pilgrim,  who  stood  in  front  of  the  abbot,  so  as  to 
guard  the  venerable  man,  by  his  own  person,  from  the 
possibility  of  any  injury  reaching  him,  here  stepped  for- 
ward so  far  into  the  high  road  as  to  attract  upon  himself 


64  THE  POPE   AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

tlie  attention  of  tlie  horsemen.  His  doing  so  brought 
him  in  advance  of  the  projecting  huts,  so  as  to  be  on  a 
line  with  the  spot  to  which  he  had  directed  the  attention 
of  Bernhard. 

The  unwonted  silence  of  the  hamlet  evidently  appalled 
the  horsemen.  Their  loud  talk,  which  was  heard  as 
they  passed  the  first  houses,  became,  as  if  by  general 
consent,  completely  hushed,  so  that,  by  the  time  they 
had  drawn  near  to  where  the  pilgrim  stood,  not  a  sound 
was  to  be  heard  but  the  regular  tramp  of  the  horses' 
feet  in  the  centre  of  the  road.  The  horsemen  looked  at 
the  pilgrim,  but  did  not  deem  it  necessary  to  bestow 
even  a  passing  word  upon  him.  The  pilgrim  waited 
until  the  central  group  was  on  the  point  of  passing  him, 
and  then  there  was  heard  a  word,  pronounced  in  a  voice 
so  distinct  and  clear,  that  the  hamlet  rung  again  with 
the  sound.     It  was  the  simple  word  —  "  halt." 

The  word,  as  pronounced  by  the  lips  of  the  pilgrim, 
was  involuntarily,  almost  unconsciously  obeyed  by  the 
horsemen ;  for,  soldiers  as  they  were,  they  could  not  fail 
to  recognize  that  it  was  given  forth  by  one  long  accus- 
tomed to  command  in  many  a  hard-fought  field. 

"  Who  bids  us  halt  ?  "  inquired  the  commander  of 
the  troop,  recovering  from  the  momentary  surprise  into 
which  he  had  been  cast. 

"  I  do,"  said  the  pilgrim  ;  "  and  it  is  to  demand  of  thee 
and  thy  followers,  in  the  name  of  the  Lord  Abbot  of 
Aschaffenburg,  within  whose  district  thou  now  art,  why 
and  wherefore  thou  hast^  without  his  sanction,  first  pre- 
sumed to  arrest  this  maiden,  and  then,  having  arrested 
her,  why  thou  hast  not  brought  the  captive  before  him, 
in  order  that  he  might  ascertain  whether  or  not  she  can 
provide  herself  with  compurgators,  by  which  her  inno- 


THE  EESCUE  AND  RECAPTURE.  65 

ceuce  of  any  charge  alleged  against  her  may  be  demon- 
strated." 

"  Sir  Pilgrim,"  sueeringly  answered  the  commander 
of  the  horsemen,  "  it  may  suffice  the  good  Abbot  of  As- 
chaffenburg  to  know  that  we  are  soldiers  of  the  loyal 
city  of  Worms ;  that  we  have  banished  our  own  bishop 
from  our  city,  because  he  was  not  obedient  to  King 
Henry ;  and  that  we  care  as  little  for  thy  abbot ;  that 
we  trample  upon  his  authority ;  that  we  defy  his  power, 
and  that  we  have  arrested  this  female,  not  because  we 
allege  that  she  has  done  to  others  or  to  us  aught  of 
wrong,  but  because  it  is  oiu-  pleasure  to  make  her  our 
captive.  This  is  our  sole  answer  to  the  question  put  to 
us  by  a  wandering  pilgrim,  on  behalf  of  the  fasting, 
psalm-singing,  discipline-using  Abbot  of  Aschaffenburg." 

"  Then,  as  thy  sole  reply,"  said  the  pilgrim,  advancing 
towards  the  troop,  "  I  say  to  thee,  miserable  man,  may 
the  Lord  have  mercy  on  thy  soul !  " 

The  commander  of  the  troop  looked  down  with  con- 
tempt upon  the  pilgrini,  and  then  gazing  direct  before 
him,  he  pointed  with  his  sword,  and  seemed  about  to 
pronounce  the  word  "  onward,"  when  he  was  seen  to  fall 
seemingly  lifeless  to  the  earth,  and  at  the  same  moment 
a  crash  was  heard ;  but  the  fall  seemed  to  precede  the 
riving  noise  that  was  made  as  an  arrow  head  tore  its 
way  through  his  polished  helmet.  At  the  same  moment 
the  sword  of  the  fallen  man  was  seized  by  the  pilgrim, 
and,  before  the  man's  companion  could  recover  from  his 
siu-prise,  a  vigorous  lunge  with  the  same  sword,  now 
wielded  by  the  pilgrim's  hand,  sent  that  companion 
senseless  to  the  earth. 

As  the  leader  of  the  troop  fell,  a  clamorous  and 
raging  crowd  of  armed  serfs  burst  out  upon  all  sides  on 
6* 


66  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

the  liorsemen.  The  horsemen,  confused,  and  assailed 
without  sufficient  space  to  use  their  spears,  had  to  draAV 
their  swords,  and  aiming  as  well  as  they  could  down 
upon  the  unguarded  heads  of  the  serfs,  at  length  effiscted 
their  escape,  each  man,  however,  bearing  with  him  a 
wound,  and  leaving,  as  the  result  of  this  short  and  des- 
perate conflict,  three  of  their  men  dead  in  the  hamlet, 
and  finding  that  their  female  captive  had  been  rescued 
from  them. 

The  fugitive  horsemen  retreated  back  to  that  part  of 
the  hamlet  by  which  they  had  first  appeared,  as  it  was 
the  only  place  that  they  could  perceive  to  be  free  from 
assailants.  Here  the  men  rallied,  and  recovering  in  a 
few  minutes  from  the  panic  fear  with  which  they  had 
been  fii'st  seized,  they  stanched  their  bleeding  Avounds  ; 
and  as  they  did  so,  he  who  seemed  to  be  the  second  in 
command,  observed  : 

"  A  sad  day's  work  this  —  four-  of  our  men  killed  in 
as  many  seconds." 

"  Nay,  but  three,"  replied  a  soldier  ;  "  I  noticed  that 
our  commander,  Lieman,  had  no  blood  upon  his  face  as 
he  fell.  The  arrow  that  shot  him  down  could  have  only 
stunned  him  ;  but  I  warrant  he  will,  from  such  a  knock 
as  that,  have  a  headache  for  a  week  to  come." 

*'  I  doubt  it  much,  comrade,"  said  the  second  com- 
mander. "  Let  us  but  return  to  the  king,  without  that 
female,  and  neither  Lieman,  nor  any  man  here,  will  this 
day  week  have  a  head  upon  his  shoulders.  Better  the 
sledge  hammer  of  a  serf,  than  endure  what,  perchance, 
may  be  our  own  lot,  a  lingering  death  by  torture  under 
the  practised  hand  of  King  Henry's  headsman.  But 
mark !  something  strange  has  occurred  amongst  our  foes. 
They  are  all  in  dismay,  clustering  under  a  tree,  and  they 


THE   RESCUE    AND   RECAPTURE.  67 

have  left  alone  and  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  that  de- 
mon pilgrim,  and  our  captive.  Now  then  is  the  moment 
to  make  a  charge  upon  them  Avhilst  they  are  in  confu- 
sion. We  have  two  things  to  choose  between,  death  in 
the  hamlet,  or  death  on  the  scaffold.  If  we  succeed  we 
shall  have  full  purses  —  if  we  fail  we  choose  the  easier 
death." 

"  Charge,  Egen,  charge  for  your  life,"  said  the  com- 
mander Lieman,  here  running  up  to  his  men.  "  I  have 
done  something  to  distract  the  attention  of  the  serfs. 
Soldiers  !  let  the  four  in  the  first  line  set  your  lances  all 
at  the  pilgrim  —  run  him  through  on  the  sjDot  —  let  the 
four  next  carry  off  the  woman  living  or  dead  —  and  as  to 
the  remainder  draw  your  swords,  cut  right  and  left  until 
we  get  back  to  the  river  bank.  I  will  meet  you  there  as 
best  I  can  —  charge." 

The  order  was  readily  and  promptly  obeyed  by  des- 
perate men,  who  felt  that  their  only  chance  of  saving 
their  lives  depended  upon  the  success  of  the  effort  they 
were  then  about  to  make. 

The  pilgrim,  the  moment  that  he  saw  unhorsed  the 
two  leaders  of  the  troop,  caught"  hold  of  the  female,  who 
was  absolutely  senseless  from  terror,  and  lifting  her  from 
her  palfrey,  he  bore  her  out  of  the  thick  of  the  meUe, 
wheeling,  as  he  did  so,  his  sword  around  him,  and  in- 
flicting a  desperate  gash  upon  every  horse  or  horseman 
that  came  within  its  swing.  He  saw  that  his  brave  rus- 
tics did  their  work  heartily  —  that  the  troop  in  one  mo- 
ment was  in  utter  confusion,  and  in  the  next  completely 
routed.  He  stepped,  with  as  little  sense  of  compassion 
for  the  fallen  soldiers,  over  their  blood-stained  gashed 
bodies,  as  if  they  were  so  many  iQgs  of  timber  that  lay 
in  his  path,  and  then  gently  setting  the  woman  down. 


68  THE  POPE  AXD  THE  EMPEROE. 

tliat  slie  might  rest  upon  one  of  the  benches  that  had 
been  used  by  the  serfs,  whilst  sitting  and  Hstening  to  his 
tale,  he,  with  the  intention  of  giving  to  the  poor  bewil- 
dered captive  some  air,  removed  the  deep  cowl,  which 
up  to  that  moment  had  concealed  her  features. 

No  sooner,  however,  did  his  eyes  rest  upon  those  del- 
icate features,  that  snow-white  skin,  those  pouting  lips, 
and  the  long,  inky,  black  eyelashes  which  concealed 
from  him  the  full  dark  eyes,  than  he  started  back  invol- 
untarily, as  if  he  had  been  the  witness  to  some  wondrous 
miracle,  in  which  is  exhibited  at  once  the  Almighty 
power,  goodness,  and  mercy  of  the  Creator. 

"  O,  God  !  O,  God  !  can  this  be  true,"  he  exclaimed. 
"  Is  tills  not  a  dream  ?  —  a  dream  of  years,  and  one 
that  I  could  hardly  hope  would  ever  be  Realized.  But 
can  it  be  —  that  I  see  her  now  —  see  her  at  last,  —  and 
O,  God  !  —  she  is  dead  —  but  no  —  no  —  to  think  that 
is  to  doubt  of  God's  goodness.  It  is  but  a  swoon  — 
water  !  good  Bernhard !  —  hasten  with  water  —  as  for 
me,  I  cannot  venture  to  take  my  eyes  from  this  face. 
Bernhard,  some  M^ater,  quickly." 

Bernhard  did  not  hear  the  pilgrim.  He  was  far  away 
from  him,  beneath  the  spreading  tree.  It  was  the  only 
order  the  pilgrim  gave  to  him  that  day  which  was  not, 
on  the  instant,  obeyed  by  Bernhard. 

The  pilgrim  continued  to  look  on  the  beauteous  crea- 
ture that  still  lay  senseless  before  him.  At  length  she 
was  heard  to  sigh  —  then  gently  moved,  and  then  opened 
her  eyes,  but  shrank  back  appalled  from  the  pilgrim,  for 
she  perceived  that  he  had  seized  one  of  her  hands,  and 
was  covering  it  with  kisses. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  pilgrim,  "  I  see  thou  canst  not  know 
me,  concealed  as  I  am  beneath  this  strange  garb.  Dost 
thou  not  know  me  then  ?  " 


THE  RESCUE  AND  RECAPTURE.  G9 

"  Know  ^Aee,"  said  Beatrice,  for  it  was  she  who  had 
been  thus  rescued,  and  in  whose  speaking  features  were 
portrayed  perplexity  and  surprise ;  "  know  thee,  Sir 
Pilgrim  —  how  is  it  possible  I  should  know  thee,  since 
I  have  until  this  moment  never  before  looked  upon 
thee  ?  " 

"  Not  know  me !  "  such  were  the  words  uttered  by 
the  pilgrim  ;  but  he  was  permitted  to  say  no  more. 
The  rally  of  the  horsemen  outside  the  village  —  the 
movements  of  Lieman  upon  being  restored  to  his  senses 
—  the  agitation  and  the  commotion  of  the  serfs  —  the 
escape  of  Lieman  —  the  return  to  the  attack,  of  the 
horsemen,  were  alike  unheeded  once  the  tmveiled  fea- 
tures of  Beatrice  were  looked  upon  by  the  pilgrim. 
They  Avere  as  completely  unnoticed,  as  the  advance  of 
the  horsemen  was  unheard  by  him,  when  they  came  clat- 
tering and  charging  up  the  high  road,  and  four  horsemen 
ran  at  him  full  tilt,  striking  him  at  the  same  moment 
with  their  lances.  Of  the  four  lances  that  struck  him, 
the  shafts  of  three  shivered  to  pieces,  and  the  resistance 
to  the  fourth  was  so  great  that  the  trooper  was  unhorsed. 
The  blows,  however,  were  well  aimed,  for  having  carried 
the  pilgrim  onward  for  a  short  distance,  they  flung  him 
to  the  earth,  with  the  blood  gushing  from  his  mouth. 
As  he  fell  —  for  there  was  none  other  in  all  that  hamlet 
who  now  raised  a  sword  in  her  behalf  —  the  shrieking 
Beatrice  was  again  seized  on,  and  carried  off  to  the  river. 
She  was  swept  away  by  her  ravishers  as  unheeded  by 
the  serfs  of  Aschaffenbm-g,  as  if  they  had  but  plucked 
from  the  soil  some  noxious  weed,  and  bore  it  to  the 
water's  edge. 

And  why,  it  may  be  asked,  were  those,  who  had  but 
a  fcAv  minutes  before  perilled  life  and  limb  to  rescue 


TO  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

Beatrice  from  the  liaiids  of  tlie  ruffian  soldiers  of 
"Worms,  now  so  utterly  forgetful  of  lier  ?  For  the 
same  reason  that  has  ever  made  mankind  selfish  in  the 
midst  of  an  overwhelming  calamity  :  because,  when  the 
heart  is  smitten  by  some  awful  and  astounding  grief,  it 
appears  to  be  deprived  of  the  capability  of  compassionat- 
ing the  sorrow  of  another,  which,  though  as  great  as  its 
own  to  the  sufferer,  is  unlike  to  it,  in  its  nature  and 
degree. 

The  serfs  of  Aschaffenburg  thought  not  of  fighting  in 
defence  of  Beatrice,  for  the  hamlet  in  which  they  dwelt 
had  been  polluted  by  a  sacrilegious  murder  ! 

No  sooner  had  the  perfidious  Lieman  recovered  his 
senses  from  the  blow  which  had  stricken  him  to  the 
earth,  and  perceived  that  his  troop  had  been  completely 
routed,  and  the  attention  of  the  pilgrim  engaged  with 
.Beatrice,  than  he  snatched  from  the  ground  the  arrow 
that  had  felled  him,  and  rushed  at  the  abbot,  who  was 
still  on  his  knees,  and  engaged  in  prayer ;  and,  insti- 
gated by  the  fell  spirit  of  the  new  sect,  "  the  Paterini," 
of  which  he  was  a  member,  he  experienced  a  malignant 
pleasure  in  directing  the  weapon  with  such  a  fearful  aim 
into  the  back  of  his  victim,  that  the  arrow  head  went 
right  through  the  heart,  and,  at  length,  caught  in  the 
wood  of  the  crucifix  which  was,  in  the  momentary  pang 
of  death,  drawn  closely  up  to  the  good  old  man's  breast 

And  thus  was  the  venerable  Abbot  Meginherr  dis- 
covered by  his  serfs  —  dead,  in  the  attitude  of  prayer  — 
and  with  his  own  crucifix  nailed  to  his  heart  —  his  pure 
blood  oozing  out  on  the  image  of  his  Savior,  to  whose 
service  he  had  devoted  the  eighty  years  of  his  stainless, 
ever-loving,  ever-pure,  and  ever-faithful  life  ! 

To  gaze,  horror-stricken,  upon  such  a  sight  as  this. 


THE  RESCUE  AND   RECAPTURE.  71 

■was  the  grief  of  griefs  to  tlie  poor  serfs  of  AschafFcn- 
burg,  and  they  had  neither  hearts  to  feel  nor  thoughts 
to  give  to  the  misfortunes  of  another  —  and  that  too,  a 
stranger,  who  could  never  be  as  afflicted  as  they  were 
for  the  death  of  the  abbot ;  for  they  had  been  his  serfs. 
He  had  been  their  lord,  their  master,  their  father,  their 
protector,  their  friend,  their  adviser,  their  consoler. 
There  was  not  a  hand  there  that  he  had  not  enriched  by 
his  bounty ;  there  was  not  a  tongue  there  that  had  not 
blessed  him  for  his  thoughtfulness  and  his  affection  ;  there 
was  not  an  ear  there  that  had  not  heard  from  him  the 
sweet  words  of  consolation  in  this  world,  and  of  hope  for 
the  world  to  come.  To  them  he  had  been  all  in  all, 
and  yet,  almost  in  their  presence,  he  had  been  brutally 
massacred  ! 

All  —  men,  women,  and  children,  knelt  down  and 
prayed  around  the  dead  body  of  Meginherr,  the  Lord 
Abbot  of  Aschaffenburg. 

Bernhard,  the  forester,  recognized  in  the  dead  body 
of  the  abbot  his  own  arrow  —  he  remembered  too  the 
face  of  him  whose  life  he  had  spared  in  the  battle. 

Bernhard,  the  forester,  knelt  with  the  other  serfs  ;  but 
he  did  not  pray  —  he  made  a  vow  —  and  that  was  a  vow 
that  he  would  have,  by  fair  means  if  he  could,  and  if 
not,  by  foul  —  ay,  foul  as  the  deed  itself — and  with  the 
same  arrow  too  —  the  life  of  his  lord's  assassin. 


72  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROB. 

CHAPTER  V. 

THE  WOUNDED    PILGRIM. 

The  clamor  of  battle  had  been  succeeded  by  the  sobs 
of  men,  and  the  piercing  shrieks  of  women  and  children. 
Both  noises  had  reached  the  inhabitants  of  the  monas- 
tery, on  the  topmost  point  of  the  hill,  and  they  were 
speedily  seen  descending  its  declivity,  priests  and  monks 
as  they  were,  and  hurrying  to  the  hamlet  of  the  serfs, 
hopeful  that  by  their  presence  they  might  bring  spiritual 
consolation  to  the  dying  and  help  to  the  wounded. 

With  such  intentions  they  came,  and  those  amongst 
them  who  Avere  practised  in  surgery  (and  not  a  few  of 
them  were  so),  soon  found  employment  for  their  skill 
on  the  wounded  heads,  gashed  arms,  and  dislocated 
shoulders  of  the  serfs  —  others  betook  themselves,  with 
tears,  to  the  care  of  the  mortal  remains  of  the  slain 
Meginherr,  whilst  a  few  raised  from  the  earth  the  ap- 
parently lifeless  body  of  the  pilgrim.  To  their  surprise 
they  founH  him  breathing,  although  still  senseless.  They 
removed  his  habit,  for  the  purpose  of  seeing  where  he 
had  been  wounded ;  and  then,  to  their  astonishment, 
they  discovered  that  the  pilgrim's  body  was  covered 
with  a  coat  of  mail,  worn  close  to  the  skin,  and  without 
leathern  doublet  beneath  it. 

*'  He  is  even  now  recovering  ;  and  in  a  few  minutes 
his  senses  will  be  restored  to  him.  He  has,"  said  a 
young  monk,  "  received  four  bruises.  The  spear  points 
could  not  break  through  this  thick  and  skilfully  twisted 
coat  of  mail.  The  force,  however,  with  which  they 
were  driven  has  caused  severe  contusions,  and  to  these 


THE   CAPTIVE   ON  THE  RIVER  MAINE.  73 

is  to  be  added  a  bad  fall,  by  wliicli  one  of  the  small 
blood  vessels  has  been  injured.  Quick  —  brothers  !  '" 
he  shouted  aloud  to  his  fellow-monks  —  "  this  pilgrim 
must  be  carried  to  our  infirmary.  We  must  have  the 
best  leeches  in  the  monastery  to  attend  him.  In  three 
weeks  I  hope  to  see  him  restored  to  perfect  health." 


CHAPTER    VI. 

THE   CAPTIVE   ON   THE   RIVER  MAINE. 

The  barge  in  which  Beatrice  was  conveyed  from  As- 
chaffenburg  was  one  that  appeared  to  have  been  con- 
structed for  the  double  purposes  of  luxury  and  security  ; 
for,  between  its  centre  and  its  stern  there  had  been  ele- 
vated what  might  be  called  an  apartment,  rather  than  a 
cabin,  composed  of  wood,  so  solidly  constructed,  and 
the  matting  outside  kept  in  such  a  constant  state  of 
moisture,  that  the  noonday  heat  was  not  felt  by  those 
enclosed  within  its  precincts.  On  the  inside,  it  was 
covered  with  the  richest  silks,  and  its  floor  strewed  with 
soft  cushions  and  ottomans,  whilst  attached  to  one  of  its 
walls  was  a  table,  on  which  lay,  in  vessels  of  gold,  the 
most  tempting  fruits  and  viands,  with  the  richest  and 
most  cooling  wines.  To  this  apartment  there  were  no 
windows,  so  that  the  person  enclosed  could  neither  see 
M  hat  was  passing  outside,  nor  coidd  any  prying  eye  from 
without  behold  what  M'as  going  on  in  the  cabin.  Abun- 
dance of  light  and  air  were  admitted  through  the  roof, 
which  was  covered  with  a  species  of  lattice-work,  that 
7 


74  THE   POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

could  be  turned,  either  from  within  or  without,  so  as  to 
keep  the  apartment  constantly  shaded  from  the  rays  of 
the  midday  sun. 

At  the  stern  of  the  boat  there  was  a  space  left  for 
three  persons  —  a  helmsman  and  two  others,  and  in 
front  of  the  cabin  were  the  seats  for  the  rowers,  and  for 
those  who  might  be  in  personal  attendance  upon  the 
master  of  the  vessel. 

This  barge  was,  upon  the  present  occasion,  preceded 
by  a  large  boat,  and  followed  by  two  others,  and  all  of 
them  filled  with  soldiers,  who  were  armed  with  short 
pikes,  swords,  bows,  and  arrows. 

It  was  thus  escorted  that  Beatrice  was  carried  away 
from  Aschaffenburg,  and,  aided  by  the  current  and  the 
sturdy  strokes  of  the  rowers,  she  was  wafted  swiftly 
along  the  water  of  the  ]Maine. 

Poor  Beatrice  !  she,  whose  life  it  might  be  said  had 
passed  away,  until  the  last  forty-eight  hours,  in  one  un- 
broken course  of  tranquillity,  who  had  unconsciously 
risen  from  infancy  to  girlhood,  and  from  girlhood  to 
womanhood,  and  wdio  had  no  recollection  of  ever  en- 
countering, in  the  face  of  any  one  who  looked  upon  her, 
any  other  than  loving  glances,  now  found  herself,  well 
knowing  she  had  never  offended  a  human  being,  seized 
upon  by  the  ruffian  hands  of  utter  strangers,  arrested  as 
a  malefactor,  and  carried  away  a  captive  she  knew  not 
whither.  Bewildered  by  the  sudden  pursuit  of  her  by 
armed  men,  Avhen  peacefully  riding  through  the  forest ; 
horrified  at  the  frightful  conflict  in  Avhich  she  saw  her- 
self involved  ;  addressed  too  as  she  had  been  by  the 
stranger  pilgrim,  who  called  upon  her  as  if  he  had  a 
rightful  claim  to  recognition  by  her  ;  and  then  his  brutal 
murder,  as  she  fancied,  by  those  who  were  her  unpro- 


THE   CAPTIVE   ON  THE  RIVER  MAIXE.  75 

voiced  persecutors,  followed  by  lier  recapture  ;  and,  last 
of  all,  the  mysterious  prison  in  ■svhich  she  was  confined, 
and  the  rapidity  with  which  it  was  moving  through  the 
waters  —  all  these  circumstances,  combined  together, 
came  rushing  upon  her  brain,  and  whilst  they  deprived 
her  of  the  power  of  thought,  yet  left  her  a  prey  to  the 
most  fearful  agony. 

Hour  passed  away  after  hour*,  and  yet  Beatrice  re- 
mained in  the  same  position,  apparently  senseless,  move- 
less, voiceless,  tearless  ;  with  parched  lips,  aching  head, 
and  trembling  hands,  stretched  upon  the  cushions  that 
strewed  the  floor  of  that  luxurious  cabin,  which  seemed 
to  be  constructed  for  a  Sybarite. 

Thus  lay  she  who  never  before  knew  what  real  sorrow 
had  been  ;  and  who,  even  yet,  was  unconscious  how 
much  of  vice,  and  sin,  and  wickedness  may  be  found  in 
this  world.  Had  she  any  idea  of  these  things,  or  of 
the  fate  that  was  destined  for  her,  perchance  she  would 
have  thought  more  of  herself;  but  as  it  was,  her  great- 
est grief  was  occasioned  by  the  thoughts  of  her  mother 
—  of  her  mother,  who,  perhaps,  even  up  to  that  moment 
was  not  conscious  of  what  had  become  of  her  (as  she 
had  ridden  out  unaccompanied  by  Agatha,  for  the  pur- 
pose merely  of  bestowing  in  charity  a  piece  of  gold 
upon  the  sick  vnk  of  a  serf)  —  of  her  mother,  who 
would  wait,  perhaps,  all  day,  expecting  her  return  every 
moment  —  of  her  mother,  who,  when  the  shades  of 
evening  began  to  fall,  would  feel  convinced,  and  not  till 
then,  that  some  calamity  had  befallen  her,  and  then  — 
she  thought  how  her  mother  would  feel  when  she  was 
told  of  all  the  scenes  that  had  occurred  in  the  hamlet 
of  Aschafienburg  ! 

Thus  lay  poor  Beatrice  for  hours,  a  prey  far  more  to 


76  THE  POPE  AND   THE  EMPEROR. 

despair  tlian  grief,  wlien  suddenly,  and  most  iinexpect- 
.  edly,  there  came  to  her  ears,  and  as  if  borne  to  her  from 
a  distance  over  the  waters,  the  tones  of  a  voice  which 
thrilled  to  her  heart.     The  words  spoken  were  these  : 

*'  I  tell  thee,  Magnus,  there  is  no  use  of  thy  toiling 
in  troubled  waters  ;  if  there  be  any  fish  in  the  net,  the 
number  of  the  captors  are  so  many  as  to  affright  others 
from  following  it." 

"  Nay,"  replied  the  voice  of  him  who  had  been  ad- 
dressed as  Magnus,  "  I  tell  thee,  Dedi,  it  must  be  a 
very  stupid  fish  if  it  does  not  catch  at  the  bait  we  use. 
I  can  assure  thee  that  if  there  be  any  fish  in  the  river,  I 
know  how  to  discover  it." 

It  was  the  voice  of  Magnus  !  of  her  Magnus,  that 
Beatrice  listened  to  !  The  moment  she  heard  his  name 
pronounced,  she  started  to  her  feet,  and,  when  she  heard 
his  words,  she  listened,  as  if  each  syllable  was  far  more 
precious  to  her  existence  than  the  air  she  breathed ;  and 
when  his  words  had  ceased,  she  replied  to  them  in  a 
voice  that  was  now  weak  and  hoarse,  and  the  accents  of 
which,  it  seemed  to  her,  could  scarcely  be  heard  even 
by  herself  — 

"  Magnus  !  Magnus  !  —  help  !  help  !  —  rescue  !  —  It 
is  I  —  Beatrice  —  thy  beloved — thy  betrothed,  calls  upon 
thee  !     Rescue  !   dearest  Magnus  !  —  Rescue  !  rescue  !  " 

"  Halloa  !  "  cried  out  the  voice  of  some  one,  so  close 
to  her  ear,  that  the  person  seemed  to  stand  at  her  side. 
"  Halloa  !  what  means  all  this  ?  Strike  up,  men,  one 
of  your  Paterini  hymns,  we  must  drown  by  our  noise 
this  wench's  squalling." 

The  command  Avas  instantly  obeyed.  Beatrice  heard 
the  noise  made  by  the  singers,  but  not  the  blasphemous 
words  that  were  now  chanted  forth  by  the  boatmen. 


THE   CAPTIVE   ON   THE  RIVER   MAINE.  77 

She  listened,  watchfully,  in  the  hope  of  hearing  these 
joyous  notes  interrupted  by  the  rough  shouts  of  men 
engaged  in  conflict  —  such  as  she  had  heard  a  few  hours 
before  in  the  hamlet  of  Aschaffenburg. 

She  listened  in  vain :  the  song  of  the  boatmen  sud- 
denly ceased.  The  silence  with  which  she  appeared 
before  to  have  been  surrounded  on  all  sides  was  resumed. 
She  beheld  herself  again  left  alone  and  helpless,  in  that 
solitary  and  splendid  chamber,  and  no  sound  now  reached 
her  ears  but  the  rippling  of  the  waters  and  the  stroke 
of  the  oars,  as  the  barge  hurried  onward. 

Beatrice,  however,  had  heard  again  the  voice  of  Mag- 
nus. Its  loved  tones  had  come  to  her,  at  the  very  mo- 
ment when  she  appeared  to  have  been  shut  out  from  the 
sympathy,  and  cut  off  from  the  aid  of  every  creature 
on  this  earth.  The  Beatrice,  therefore,  who  now  stood 
ixp  in  that  prison-cabin,  was  no  longer  the  same  poor, 
helpless,  despairing  girl  that  had  lain  there  for  hours 
lost  in  wretchedness,  and  motionless  from  despair.  She 
was  still  most  miserable,  but  there  was  a  gleam  of  hope 
that  such  misery  would  have  an  end,  she  knew  not  how, 
or  by  what  means  ;  but  her  whole  soul  was  now  filled 
with  a  complete  confidence  in  the  mercy  and  the  pro- 
tection of  God.  The  voice  of  Magnus  had  forewarned 
her  to  prayer,  and  to  prayer  she  betook  herself ;  casting 
herself  upon  her  knees,  she  gave  up  her  whole  thoughts 
to  her  devotions  —  and  there,  from  that  sin-blotted 
apartment,  in  Avhich  vice  had  so  often  revelled,  and  de- 
bauchery had  begrimed  itself  with  the  most  hideous 
deeds,  there  arose  up  to  heaven,  out  of  a  pure  and  stain- 
less soul,  supplications  sweeter  than  incense,  because 
impregnated  with  the  purest  aspirations  of  heartfelt 
piety.  - 


78  THE   POPE   AXD   THE   EMPEROR. 

And  so  prayed  Beatrice,  until  the  barge  bore  her 
down  the  Maine,  and  was  draAvn  close  up  to  the  path- 
way that  led  from  the  bank  to  the  grim  fortress  of 
Frankfort. 

So  intently  engaged  were  the  commanders  of  the 
barge.  Count  Werenher^  Lieman,  and  Egen,  in  conver- 
sation —  so  much  excited  was  the  cupidity  of  the  count, 
and  the  avarice  of  his  associates  in  crime,  that  they  did 
not  remark  that  a  bend  in  the  river  had  brought  them 
within  view  of  a  large  hawking  party  on  its  banks,  and 
that  they  had  been  for  some  time  the  subject  of  specu- 
lation and  of  comment.  Tliat  which  they  could  not 
hear  we  may  be  permitted  to  state  to  the  reader. 

The  leading  personages  in  the  party,  who  were  en- 
gaged in  the  sport  of  hawking,  and  that  the  pursuit  of 
game  had  brought  to  the  banks  of  the  river,  were  the 
youthful  Magnus  ;  his  cousin  and  his  friend,  Dedi  the 
younger  ;  the  father  of  the  latter,  Count  Dedi  of  Sax- 
ony ;  and  his  wife,  the  Countess  Adela. 

The  countess  was  the  first  to  perceive  the  barge,  and 
the  boats  of  armed  men  that  followed  it. 

"  Ho  !  husband,"  she  cried,  "  come  hither.  "What 
means  this  strange  craft  in  the  Maine  ?  I  never  saw 
barge  built  like  that  before." 

The  Count  Dedi  looked,  and  then  turning  to  his  wife, 
said  — 

"  Alas  !  Adela,  the  sight  of  that  barge  is  proof,  if 
proof  we  wanted,  that  the  king,  Henry,  remains  un- 
changed, and,  I  fear,  luichangeable,  in  his  despotic  dis- 
position and  the  indulgence  in  his  vices.  That  barge 
contains  a  prisoner  —  you  see  that  it  is  preceded  and 
followed  by  armed  men  —  but  whether  the  victim  con- 
fined in  it  be  man  or  woman,  I  cannot  tell." 


THE   CAPTIYE   ON  THE   FtlVEIl   MAINE.  79 

"  Then  I  can,"  observed  Magnus.  '^  If  the  prisoner 
in  the  barge  were  a  man,  there  would  be  several  soldiers 
on  board  ;  but  with  the  rowers,  there  are  only  three  in- 
dividuals, there  must  be  either  no  prisoner  at  all,  or  that 
prisoner  is  a  woman." 

"  Shrewdly  guessed,  boy,"  said  the  Countess  Adela  ; 
"  but  I  may  tell  thee  there  is  a  prisoner  on  board  ;  for, 
if  there  were  not,  the  boats  would  not  proceed  in  that 
regular  manner,  prepared  for  an  attack  either  before  or 
behind.  Besides,  thou  mayest  perceive  that  in  the  boat 
that  precedes  the  barge,  as  well  as  in  those  that  follow  it, 
the  soldiers  are  fully  armed,  and  prepared  for  any  attack 
that  may  be  made  upon  them.  And,  good  God  !  it  is  a 
woman  !  One  of  our  daughters,  or  of  our  sisters,  or 
nieces,  who  may  be  thus  treated.  O,  if  I  were  but  a 
warrior,  I  would  not  sit  tamely  down  under  the  perpe- 
tration of  such  brutalities." 

"  Patience,  good  Adela,"  said  the  elder  Dedi. 

"  Patience  !  forsooth,  Avith  such  a  spectacle  of  abom- 
ination as  this  placed  before  the  eyes  of  an  honest  woman 

—  of  a  mother,  too  —  patience  !  Shame  upon  the  lips 
that  can  say  patience,  when  the  hand  of  every  man  — 
of  every  one  deserving  the  name  of  man,  should  be 
raised  to  prevent  such  a  crime  —  a  crime  lik^  that  which 
we  now  look  upon." 

"  Patience  !  I  repeat  the  phrase,"  replied  the  Count 
Dedi,  "  for  it  is  alone  applicable  to  the  circumstances  in 
which  we  are  placed,  even  if  our  worst  suspicions  were 
confirmed.  Yes,  Adela,  I  repeat  it  —  patience  —  sup- 
posing this  to  be  the  last  of  the  abominations  of  Henry 

—  especially  as  we  do  not  at  this  moment  know  whether 
there  be  any  truth  at  all  in  our  suspicions  ;  and  whether, 
in  point  of  fact,  there  is  even  a  single  prisoner  —  woman, 
or  man,  within  the  barge." 


80  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROE. 

«  That  is  a  fact,"  said  Magnus,  "  of  which  I  shall 
take  care  we  shall  not  long  remain  in  ignorance,  Mark, 
count,"  he  said,  "  that  point  about  half  a  mile  distance 
from  this.  You  see  that  the  Maine  there  runs  between 
such  closely-joining  banks,  that  any  persons  on  board  can 
hear  the  voice  of  a  speaker  across  the  water  —  your  son 
and  I  will  repair  thither,  and  you  may  rest  assured  that, 
if  there  be  a  prisoner  on  board,  he  or  she  shall  hear  our 
words  —  and,  if  not  gagged,  nor  a  willing  prisoner — - 
we  must  hear  them  in  return." 

*'  Thou  art  a  good  youth,  INIagnus,"  said  the  Countess 
Adela,  "  and  I  have  no  doubt  thou  wilt  yet  prove  thy- 
self not  only  a  stout  soldier,  but  a  skilful  general." 

**  Yes,"  said  Count  Dedi,  "  too  good,  too  noble,  and 
too  exalted,  and  his  life  far  too  precious,  to  be  risked  in 
a  mad  enterprise,  or  lost  in  a  vain  exploit.  Magnus,  I 
will  consent  to  thy  making  the  trial  on  one  condition." 

"  Name  it,"  said  Magnus,  as  he  prepared  to  give  a 
loose  rein  to  his  steed. 

"It  is  to  require  of  thee,"  replied  the  elder  Dedi, 
*'  supposing  the  voice  that  answers  thee  —  that  is,  if  any 
should  respond  to  thy  call  —  should  be  that  of  some  one 
known  to  thee — thou  wilt,  instead  of  madly  plunging 
into  the  river,  to  be  drowned,  or  shot  to  death  with  ar- 
rows, return  to  me,  as  the  good  and  brave  soldier  returns 
to  his  commander  when  he  has  discovered  the  enemy, 
instead  of  stopping  to  fight  with  him.  Wilt  thou  so 
obey  me  ?  " 

"  I  will,"  answered  Magnus.  "  Though  it  were  the 
voice  of  my  own  mother  I  heard,  I  will  return  to  thee. 
I  see  perfectly  well  that  we  are  helpless  —  that  we,  on 
land  and  imarmed,  can  do  nought  against  armed  men  in 
boats,  and  hence,  I  consider  that  I  am  bound  to  return 


THE   CAPTIVE  ON  THE  RIVER  MAINE.  81 

to  thee,  and  report  what  I  may  hear,  in  order  that  thou 
mayest  divine  the  means  for  baiEing  the  enemy." 

"  I  repeat  my  wife's  words  —  thou  art  a  good  youth, 
Magnus,"  said  the  elder  Dedi.  "  My  son  knows  some- 
thing of  the  devices  of  war,  and  will  tell  thee  how  thou 
mayest  so  speak,  as  to  escape  exciting  the  instant  sus- 
picion and  attention  of  the  enemy  —  for  it  is  an  enemy 
—  the  enemy  of  virtue,  of  religion,  of  morality  ;  of 
knightly  truth,  manly  rectitude,  and  female  honor.  Re- 
member that,  and  also,  that  you  can  endanger  all  these 
by  rashness.  And  now  both  have  my  permission  to  go. 
Go  —  I  say  —  and  a  father's  blessing  go  with  you." 

"  And  a  woman's  prayers,"  added  the  Countess  Adela. 

Half  an  hour  had  not  passed  away  until  Magnus  and 
his  cousin  were  by  the  side  of  the  Countess  Adela  and 
her  husband. 

The  hawking  party  of  Count  Dedi  were  observed 
travelling  at  a  rapid  pace  towards  Frankfort. 

They  were  so  observed  by  the  soldiers  in  the  last  of 
the  boats  that  followed  as  an  escort  upon  the  barge  in 
which  Beatrice  was  a  prisoner. 

Men  practised  in  the  ways  of  vice  are  ever  suspicious. 
The  same  base  impulse  that  makes  them  practise  evil 
themselves  induces  them  to  believe  that  all  other  men 
are  animated  with  a  spirit  like  their  own  in  wickedness, 
in  impurity,  in  dishonesty,  in  avarice,  or  in  sordid  self- 
ishness. Such  are  all  bad  men  at  all  times  ;  but  if 
there  be  any  particular  moment  in  which,  more  than 
another,  they  are  suspicious  and  watchful,  it  is  Avheu 
they  are  engaged  in  doing  some  action,  the  utter  base- 
ness of  which  they  conceal  from  their  own  hearts. 

Such  was  the  case  with  Count  Werenher  and  his  two 
associates,  Egen  and  Lieman,  in  the  execution  of  their 


82  THE  POPE   AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

foul  abduction  of  Beatrice.  Although  the  worcls  spoken 
by  Magnus  and  Dedi  the  younger  were  not  heard  by 
them,  still  the  manner  in  which  they  had  been  responded 
to  by  Beatrice  excited  their  suspicions,  and  the  conse- 
quence was,  the  order  given  to  the  soldiers  in  the  rear- 
most boat  to  fall  behind  and  watch  the  hawking  party 
collected  on  the  banks. 

No  sooner  had  these  soldiers  reported  the  appearance 
of  the  young  Dedi  and  Magnus  as  coming  from  that 
point  of  the  river  where"the  voices  had  been  heard ;  of 
their  joining  the  count,  and  his  wife  Adela  ;  and  the 
whole  party  starting  at  full  speed,  in  the  direction  of 
Frankfort,  than  Count  Werenher  gave  orders  that  the 
men  should  be  prepared  for  an  instant  attack  upon  them  ; 
and,  sending  the  first  boat  considerably  in  advance,  with 
directions  to  give  alarm  on  the  slightest  appearance  of 
danger,  the  small  fleet  proceeded  at  a  slower  speed  down 
the  river  than  had  previovisly  marked  its  progress. 

No  event  occurred  during  the  remainder  of  the  voyage 
to  justify  the  precautions  that  had  been  adopted  by  Count 
Werenher.  Nought  was  to  be  seen  In  field  or  in  forest, 
as  the  boats  sailed  onward  —  but  their  usual  occupants  — 
the  birds,  the  beasts,  and  the  hardworking  serfs  —  the 
last  so  occupied  that  they  seldom  raised  their  eyes  to 
gaze  upon  the  passing  barge  and  its  attendant  boats. 

Meanwhile  Count  Werenher  sat  again  alone  and 
musing. 

"  Dedi  the  younger,"  thought  he.  "  It  Is  the  first 
time  he  has  crossed  my  path,  and  yet  I  cannot  tell  why 
it  is  that  now,  and  for  the  first  time,  his  name  shakes  my 
lieart  Avith  the  same  dread  that  I  suppose  the  condemned 
criminal  feels,  when  he  looks  for  the  first  time  on  the 
headsman   assigned    to    slay  him.     I   do   not  hate  the 


THE   CAPTIVE   ON  THE   RIVER  MAINE.  83 

iiiau  —  /  fear  him  :  and  wherefore  ?  There  is  nought 
in  common  between  us.  I  do  not  intend  to  injure  him  ; 
I  can  have  no  interest  in  doing  so.  I  am  his  superior  in 
rank,  in  wealth,  in  power.  He  never  can  be  my  rival, 
for  neither  he  nor  one  of  his  family  will  accept,  much 
less  seek  a  favor  from  Hemy.  Why  then  do  I  — for  1 
do  —  fear  him  ?  Wherefore  have  an  apprehension  about 
him  ?  the  more  annoying,  because  it  is  indefinable  and 
inexplicable,  and  yet  have  not  the  slightest  feeling  of  the 
same  description  towards  Duke  Magnus  ?  my  superior 
in  all  things  but  in  the  love  that  Henry  bears  me  —  and 
upon  whom  I  am  at  this  very  moment  inflicting  an  un- 
provoked and  irreparable  wrong.  It  is  strange,  most 
strange,  that  I  should  dread  my  inferior,  and  have  no 
fear  as  respects  my  superior  ;  dread  the  man  I  despise, 
and  disregard  the  man  I  ought  most  to  dread.  This  is 
an  inexplicable  superstition  —  but  I  cannot  shake  it  off. 
It  is  a  sensation,  I  feel,  that  clings  to  me,  as  the  shroud 
clings  to  the  decaying  corpse. 

'•'  But  what  means  this  ?  "  said  Werenher,  starting  up, 
as  he  saw  the  high  towers  and  frowning  battlements  of 
Frankfort  before  him.  "  Wherefore  are  there  such 
crowds  of  Saxon  serfs  drawn  up  around  our  landing 
place.  A  rescue  may  be  contemplated.  Lieman,  do 
you  take  charge  of  the  soldiers.  Before  the  female  is 
disembarked  form  a  double  line  of  them  from  the  barge 
to  the  postern.  Egen,  to  you  is  confided  the  charge  of 
conveying  our  captive  from  the  barge  in  safety.  I  shall 
remain  behind,  disguised  as  I  hitherto  have  been  :  as  it 
is  the  king's  especial  command  I  should  not  openly  ap- 
pear in  this  affair." 

The  orders  given  by  Werenher  were,  iip  to  a  certain 
point,  strictly  executed.     The  vast  crowd  collected  on 


84  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

tlie  bank  willingly  fell  back  to  enable  the   soldiers  to 
form  a  clear  path  for  the  captive. 

Lieman  walked  along  the  vacant  space,  and  saw  that 
the  soldiers  formed  two  compact  lines.  He  then  called 
out : 

"  Comrade,  bring  forth  the  king's  prisoner." 

The  crowd  —  curious  it  might  be — but  apparently 
nothing  more,  saw  carried  out  of  the  boat  a  female, 
whose  form  and  face  were  so  completely  concealed  by 
her  habit  and  hood,  that  it  was  impossible  for  any  one 
to  guess  what  might  be  her  age  or  appearance.  She  was 
borne  thus,  rather  than  led,  by  Egen,  through  the  files 
of  soldiers,  until  she  had  got  about  half  way,  when  one 
of  those  forward  movements  took  place  in  the  crowd, 
which  seemingly,  involuntarily,  never  occurs  without 
being  felt  to  be  irresistible  by  those  who  attempt  a  mo- 
mentary ojiposition  to  it.  Without  a  word  or  a  cry,  or 
the  manifestation  of  the  slightest  excitement,  the  well- 
formed  line  of  the  soldiers,  that  seemed  so  compact  a 
moment  before,  was  broken  !  snapped  as  noiselessly  and 
as  surely  as  if  it  had  been  formed  of  friable  thread  — 
and  in  an  instant,  that  which  was  before  a  vacant  space 
was  trodden  upon  by  human  beings :  the  inbursting  tide 
of  the  population  had  as  completely  concealed  that  va- 
cant place  from  observation,  as  the  advancing  sea  wave, 
in  its  flow  onwards,  covers  that  portion  of  the  shore 
which  the  ebbing  waters  had  previously  left  exposed. 

In  this  sudden  push  of  the  crowd  and  break-up  of  the 
line,  the  only  one  that  was  injured  was  Egen,  who  was 
not  knocked,  but,  as  it  seemed  to  himself,  dragged,  by 
some  hand  from  beneath,  down  to  the  earth,  and  there 
trodden  upon.  He  was  thus,  for  an  instant,  separated 
from  Beatrice.     His  loud  cry  for  help  excited  alarm. ; 


THE   CAPTIVE  ON  THE  RIVER  MAINE.  85 

and  it  was  instantly  follo-\ved  by  a  command  from  Lie- 
man  to  the  soldiers — "to  use  their  swords,  and  cut 
down  the  serfs,  if  they  did  not  make  way  for  the  pris- 
oner." Almost  at  the  same  moment,  he  snatched  her 
from  the  hands  of  an  old  Saxon  female  serf,  who  seemed 
to  be  whispering  in  her  ear,  and  then  gathering  the 
soldiers  around  him,  he  was  astonished  at  finding  the 
mob  dispersing  with  such  rapidity  that  in  a  moment 
they  were  all  beyond  his  reach.  He,  therefore,  experi- 
enced no  difficulty  in  conveying  his  captive  to  her  des- 
tined prison  —  the  fortress  —  and  there  placing  her  in 
safety. 

He  congratulated  himself  upon  his  success  ;  and  so 
did  those  who  were  opposed  to  him,  for  they  had  ac- 
complished all  they  intended  to  effect. 

During  the  few  brief  moments  that  Egen  had  been 
separated  from  Beatrice  by  the  crowd,  and  before  Lieman 
could  recover  possession  of  her,  the  Countess  Adela,  in 
the  disguise  of  an  ancient  Saxon  female  serf,  had  spoken 
these  words  in  the  ear  of  the  captive  :  — 

"  Magnus  watches  over  thee.  Be  careful  not  to  touch 
any  food  but  what  is  given  to  thee  by  a  Saxon  female. 
Place  confidence  in  any  one  who  mentions  to  thee  the 
name  of  ^  Adela.'  Such  come  from  me  —  the  Countess 
Dedi.     God  protect  thee  !  " 

Whilst  these  words  were  spoken  —  there  were  two 
others  in  that  dense  crowd  that  conversed,  for  the  first 
time,  together. 

As  the  Count  Werenher,  disguised  beneath  an  ample 
cloak,  and  his  face  covered  from  public  view  by  its  large 
deep  hood,  was  advancing  up  the  open  pathway  between 
the  two  lines  of  soldiers,  he  was  utterly  bewildered  at 
finding  the  line  so  noiselessly  broken,  and,  before  he 
8 


86  THE  POPE   AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

could  recover  from  his  surprise,  lie  was  indignant  at 
perceiving  tlie  strong  hand  of  a  stout  young  Saxon  serf 
tear  off  his  hood  with  such  violence  as  to  rend  it  from 
the  garment  to  which  it  had  been  previously  attached. 
The  proud  count  thus  saw  that  he  was  left  bareheaded 
in  the  midst  of  a  mob  of  gaping,  laughing  Saxon  serfs. 
He  turned  upon  his  assailant,  and  his  anger  so  far  over- 
mastered his  prudence,  that  he  at  once  exclaimed  — 

"  Ha  !  I  know  thee,  sir.  Thou  wearest  a  gear  that 
well  befits  thee.  Dedi,  the  younger,  descends  to  his 
proper  position  when  he  assumes  the  garb  of  a  Saxon 
serf." 

*'  Be  it  so,"  said  Dedi.  '^  I  had  rather  live  and  die 
a  Saxon  serf,  than  be  the  gilded,  titled,  disguised,  and 
skulking,  Frankish  pander  of  a  king.  Thou  knowest 
me,  thou  sayest.  Well  —  I  know  thee  too  —  Count 
Werenher  —  and  bear  this  knowledge  with  thee  also  — ■ 
that  I  despise  thee  —  loathe  thee  —  spit  upon  thee  —  as 
a  disgrace  to  manhood  ;  as  a  dishonor  to  knighthood  ;  as 
a  blot  upon  the  nobility  of  the  empire.  And,  thing  that 
thou  art,  I  will  not  strike  thee  with  a  sword,  for  a 
knight's  sword  should  never  be  sheathed  in  carrion  —  I 
will  not  strike  thee  with  my  hand,  for  the  hand  of  an 
honest  man  should  never  touch  a  villain  even  in  anger  ; 
but  I  strike  thee,  with  what  most  befits  thee  —  that 
which  is  foul,  because  it  has  come  in  contact  with  thee 
—  the  disguise  thou  didst  use  to  conceal  thee  in  thy 
dishonor.  There,"  said  he,  dashing  the  hood  in  the 
face  of  the  count  —  "  take  that,  and  hang  it  upon  thy 
shield,  and  write  beneath  it,  as  a  motto  — '  eternal 
infamy.''  " 

With  these  words,  the  tall,  athletic  Dedi  stood  look- 
ing down   upon  his  antagonist,  who  seemed  to  shrink 


HENRY  IV.,   KING   OP   GERMANY.  87 

back  in  terror  from  him.  For  a  moment  —  and  it  was 
but  a  moment  that  the  gallant  youth  thus  looked  —  a 
feeling,  akin  to  pity,  touched  him  when  he  perceived 
that  fear  had  really  taken  possession  of  Count  Werenher. 
Convinced  of  this,  he  did  not  fix  his  eyes  a  second  time 
upon  the  face  of  the  count,  but  walked  from  the  spot, 
commiserating  the  w^eakness  of  a  wretch  he  could  not 
avoid  loathing. 

Count  Werenher  stood  as  if  transfixed  to  the  earth  ; 
his  cheek  still  tingling  from  the  blow  he  had  received, 
and  his  hand  convulsively  grasping  the  hood. 

"  This  then,"  said  he,  "  is  the  cause  —  the  unknown 
cause  that  made  me,  I  know  not  why,  tremble  at  the 
name  of  Dedi  the  youfiger.  lam  dishonored  — forever, 
too  ...  It  is  true  —  and  though  I  dip  this  hood  in  his 
heart's  blood  —  and  I  will  do  so  —  still  the  words  and 
the  blow  must  remain  !  Eternal  infamy !  .  .  .  Woe  to 
this  day,  that  thus  brought  us  in  conflict !  Woe  to  thee, 
young  man  !  and  woe  —  ay,  a  thousand  woes  and  curses 
on  myself!  " 


'       CHAPTER    VII. 

HENRY    IV.,    KING    OF    GERMANY. 

There  sat  in  an  apartment,  lofty,  magnificently  fur- 
nished, yet  gloomy,  for  it  was  lighted  but  by  two  long, 
narrow  slits  in  a  thick  wall,  three  men,  as  different  in 
their  appearance,  as  they  were  in  years,  from  each  other. 
The  first  was  a  meagre,  frail-looking  old  man,  with  white 
hairs,  with  thin  nose,  peaked  chin,   and,  in  his  small 


88  THE  POPE  AND   THE  EMPEROE. 

gray  eyes,  that  anxious,  wavering  look,  which  denoted 
that  he  was  eager  for  the  acquisition  of  wealth,  and  of  a 
timid  disposition.  This  old  man  wore  the  magnificent 
vestments  of  a  Prince-Archbishop.  He  sat  before  a 
table  on  which  there  were  rich  wines,  and  a  profusion 
of  dried  fruits ;  but  his  goblet,  filled  to  the  brim,  and 
the  fruits  that  lay  heaped  before  him,  showed  that  he 
had  not  yet  partaken  of  any  portion  of  the  feast,  to 
which  he  had  been  invited  as  a  guest.  At  the  table, 
and  sitting  opposite  to  him,  was  a  man  about  five  and 
forty  years  of  age,  low-sized,  thick-set,  with  huge,  broad 
shoulders,  and  a  hand  so  large  that  the  capacious  goblet 
he  held  seemed  to  be  hidden  within  the  cavity  of  the 
palm,  rather  than  grasped  by  him.  The  low  forehead, 
and  the  short,  fiat  nose,  as  well  as  the  gaping  mouth, 
were  scarcely  discernible  amid  the  mass  of  fiery  red  hair 
that  covered  his  face,  and  gave  him  the  semblance  more 
of  a  wild  beast  than  of  a  human  being.  He  sat  and  fed, 
or  rather  munched,  like  a  hog,  and  swallowed  fost,  one 
after  the  other,  large  goblets  of  the  odorous  old  llhenish 
wine. 

Between  these  two  men  sat,  and  with  his  back  turned 
to  the  window,  so  that  the  beams  of  the  red  setting  sun 
seemed  to  bestow  upon  his  features,  whenever  he  turned 
to  his  guests,  a  roseate  hue,  a  young  man,  richly  endowed 
with  all  the  graces  of  youth.  His  hair,  which  was  of 
the  color  of  the  finest  yellow  flax,  and  of  the  polished 
smoothness  of  satin,  fell  in  long  ringlets  upon  his  shoul- 
ders. His  forehead  was  fair,  broad,  and  majestic ;  his 
eyes,  a  violet  blue,  seemed  to  beam  with  softness  and  the 
most  tender  affection  —  his  nose  straight  —  his  chin 
round  —  his  cheeks  still  bearing  that  peachy  delicacy 
that  comes  with  boyhood,  and  that  always  disappears  in 


HENRY  IV.,  KING  OF  GERMANY.  89 

tlie  first  few  years  of  manhood  —  his  mouth,  shaded  by 
a  shght  moustache,  and  decorated  by  pearly  teeth,  might, 
from  its  rich  and  coral  lips,  be  mistaken  for  that  of  a  wo- 
man, but  that  sometimes  when  it  was  intended  to  express 
a  smile,  it  was  seen,  and  as  if  in  despite  of  himself,  to 
curl  into  a  sneer  —  the  malice  of  which  was  unmistaka- 
ble. To  this  face  was  to  be  added  all  the  advantages 
of  a  commanding  person  —  so  tall,  and  yet  so  graceful, 
as  to  render  that  young  man,  even  in  the  midst  of  the 
tall  men  of  Germany,  one  remarkable  for  his  height  and 
dignity. 

This  noble,  this  handsome,  this  truly  royal-looking 
young  man  was  Henry  IV.,  King  of  Germany,  the  son 
of  the  Emperor  Henry  III.,  and  of  the  Empress  Agnes, 
the  daughter  of  William,  Duke  of  Aquitaine.  The  old 
man,  who  sat  at  his  right  hand,  was  Sigefrld,  Archbishop 
of  Mayence ;  and  the  middle-aged  man,  on  his  left. 
Count  Diedrich  of  Treves. 

Those  three  individuals,  assembled,  as  they  appeared 
to  be,  for  a  luxurious  banquet,  sat  silent  for  a  few  mo- 
ments. Diedrich  seemed  to  have  no  thought  but  for 
-eating  or  drinking,  and  the  very  silence  that  now  pre- 
vailed appeared  to  be  an  additional  ingredient  to  his  ani- 
mal enjoyments.  The  archbishop,  although  mute,  sat 
uneasily  in  his  chair,  and  twisted  and  shifted  about  like 
one  who  has  paid  a  visit  he  would,  if  he  could,  have 
avoided,  and  was  wishing  for  some  excuse  by  which  he 
might  bring  it  to  a  speedy  termination  ;  whilst  Henry 
sat  watching  the  bearing  of  his  guests,  and  amused  by 
the  contrast  it  presented. 

A  pause  had  taken  place  in  the  conversation,  as  fre- 
quently happens  when  men  are  engaged  in  matters  of 
8* 


90  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMFEROE. 

serious  import,  and  something  has  been  said  calculated 
to  excite  reflection  in  the  hearers. 

The  first  to  resume  the  conversation  was  Henry,  who, 
turning  to  the  Archbishop  of  Mayence,  said,  — 

"  And  so  the  busy,  meddling  Anno  has  been  again 
interfering  in  my  affairs.  He  has,  you  say,  written  to 
Eome." 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  prelate.  "  I  have  a  friend  in  the 
monastery  of  St.  Pantaleon,  who  assures  me  that  he  has 
seen  the  letters  addressed  by  Anno,  Archbishop  of  Co- 
logne, to  the  Archdeacon  Hildebrand." 

"  I  know  Hildebrand,"  said  Henry.  "  He  makes  and 
unmakes  popes.  I  think  I  must  some  day  or  other  imi- 
tate his  example,  and  fashion  one  of  my  own  bishops  or 
archbishops  into  a  pope.  What  say  you,  most  reverend 
Sigefrid  ?  You  would  be  a  very  good,  pious,  humble 
pope  yourself" 

"  Your  Majesty  is  pleased  to  jest  with  me,"  replied 
Sigefrid.  "  I  am  willing  to  do  much  —  perchance,  much 
more  than  I  ought,  to  please  you ;  but  to  oppose  myself 
to  the  Church  and  to  the  Pope,  to  whom  I  have  bound 
myself  in  obedience,  I  must,  once  for  all,  declare  —  if 
your  Majesty  should  not  mean  what  you  have  said  in 
jest  —  I  cannot  do." 

"  I  did  but  jest,  most  pious  Sigefrid,"  said  Henry. 
"  I  promise  you,  that  yoti  at  least  shall  never  be  asked 
by  me  to  be  a  German  pope." 

These  words  were  accompanied  by  a  sneer,  which, 
though  it  might  have  escaped  the  attention  of  Sigefrid, 
was  noted  by  Diedrich. 

As  Henry  spoke  these  words,  sneeringly,  a  new 
thought  seemed  for  the  first  time  to  rise  up  in  his  mind ; 


HEISTRY  IV.,   KING   OF   GERMANY.  91 

for  he  became  suddenly  silent,  and  remained  for  some 
time  lost,  apparently,  iu  his  own  reflections.  At  last  he 
looked  up,  smiling  blandly  upon  Sigefrid,  and  thus  con- 
tinuing the  conversation  with  him  :  — 

"  But  your  friend,  you  say,  saw  the  letters  addressed 
by  Anno  to  Hildebrand,  and  read  them  ?  " 

"  He  did,  every  word  of  them,"  replied  the  arch- 
bishop, losing  all  his  usual  caution  in  the  cheering  smile 
of  his  sovereign. 

"  Then  tell  me  the  purport  of  them ;  for  I  am  per- 
fectly conscious  that  your  friend  did  not  keep  their  con- 
tents a  secret  from  you,"  exclaimed  Henry,  laughing  at 
the  surprise  and  embarrassment  he  saw  portrayed  in  the 
features  of  the  timid  archbishop. 

"  Your  Majesty  !  "  stammered  forth  Sigefrid.  "  Your 
Majesty  assuredly  will  not  ask  of  m.e  to  betray  the  se- 
crets of  another  person." 

''  Nor  do  I,"  replied  Henry.  "  I  only  ask  as  a  favor, 
what  I  am  sure  you  will  not  refuse  to  tell  me,  namely, 
that  which  is  the  secret.  You  know  you  can  tell  me 
what  Anno  wrote  to  Hildebrand.  You  are  possessed  of 
the  secret  —  it  may  be  useful  to  me  to  know  it." 

"  It  may  be  far  more  for  your  Majesty's  peace  of  mind 
not  to  know  it,"  was  the  whispered  observation  of  Sige- 
frid. 

**  What !  "  cried  Henry,  starting  up,  and  grasping  the 
golden-handled  dagger  in  his  girdle,  whilst  a  dark  frown 
gathered  on  his  brow,  and  gave  to  his  face  of  manly 
beauty  the  same  malignant  scowl  Avhich  a  painter  might 
assign  to  the  pictured  likeness  of  a  fallen  angel. 
"  What !  is  there  a  traitorous  correspondence  carried  on 
Avith  Rome,  and  I  am  to  be  told  that  I  am  not  to  know 
it,  because  a  timid  priest  is  paltering  with  his  own  con- 


92  THE  POPE   AND   THE   EilPEROR. 

science  ?  SIgefrid,  Prince  Archbishop  of  INIayence  —  I 
tell  you  I  must  know  what  Anno  wrote  to  Hildebrand. 
Tell  it  now  —  and  I  may  thank  you  —  refuse  to  tell  it, 
and  I  swear  to  you  that  you  shall  never  leave  this  room, 
a  living  man." 

The  Count  Diedrich  said  nothing,  but  he  drew  his 
broad  dagger  fi-om  his  girdle  —  and  Mith  a  slight  move- 
ment that  seemed  to  cost  him  not  the  exertion  of  a  sin- 
gle muscle,  drove  the  point  an  inch  into  the  table ;  and 
then  the  trembling  handle  oscillated  above  the  flashing 
steel,  as  if  it  feared  the  hand  that  had  touched  it. 

Diedrich,  having  performed  this  feat,  w^ent  on  munch- 
ing his  food,  and  gorging  himself  with  wine,  as  if  he 
were  the  chance  witness  of  a  scene  in  which  he  took  not 
the  slightest  interest. 

The  old  prelate  gasped  with  agony  as  he  witnessed 
the  pantomimic  action  of  the  bristly  savage  that  sat  op- 
posite to  him. 

"  Sire,"  he  said,  "  I  swear  to  you,  by  all  that  I  hold 
most  sacred,  that  you  mistake,  grievously  mistake,  in 
supposing  that  Anno  has  written  any  treason  of  you  to 
Rome.  When  I  said  it  was  better  for  you  not  to  know 
what  he  had  written,  I  merely  meant  that  Anno,  having 
been  the  friend  of  your  father,  the  tutor  of  your  youth, 
has  written  of  you  in  terms  I  do  not  like  to  repeat,  be- 
cause the  repetition  of  his  phrases  would  be  more  pain- 
ful for  me  to  utter  than  even  for  you  to  hear." 

"  Does  Anno  prefer  any  complaint  to  Rome  against 
me  as  a  monarch  ?  That,"  said  Henry,  "  is  a  plain  ques- 
tion.    Give  it  a  plain  and  direct  answer." 

"  No,"  replied  Sigefrid.  "  Anno  Avrites  as  a  friend 
to  a  friend,  deploring  tlie  vices  —  your  Majesty  will  ex- 
cuse the  word  —  of  one  for  whom  he  feels  the  tender- 


HEXRT   IV.,   KING   OF   GERMANY.  93 

ness  of  a  fatlier,  and  begging  that  heaven  may  be  be- 
sieged with  prayers  on  your  behalf." 

"The  hyjwci-ite !  —  the  old,  ill-natured  hypocrite  — 
how  I  hate  him — ay,  from  my  very  childhood  I  hated 
him,"  said  Henry,  throwing  into  these  expressions  all 
the  vindictive  energy  of  his  character.  "  But  come,  my 
good  Sigefrid,"  he  continued,  in  a  soothing  tone  of 
voice,  to  the  trembling  old  man,  "  you  are  always  too 
charitable  in  your  construction  of  the  motives  and  ac- 
tions of  your  fellow-man  —  especially  if  that  fellow-man 
be  a  priest,  and  above  all  —  an  archbishop  !  "  (And  then, 
that  which  was  intended  for  a  smile  upon  the  lip  of  the 
monarch,  became  wrinkled  into  a  sneer.)  "You  say 
that  what  Anno  has  written  respecting  me  is  not  treason  ; 
I  must  be  a  better  judge  than  you  of  such  a  fact.  I  may 
detect  the  poison  of  a  malicious  intention  in  those  words, 
which  appear  to  you  to  breathe  nought  but  the  sentiments 
of  the  purest  charity.  Come  then,  tell  me,  as  well  as 
your  memory  will  serve  you  —  and  I  know  that  it  is  re- 
tentive ;  for  I  can  boast  in  my  court  no  man  so  learned 
as  Sigefrid  —  tell  me,  I  repeat,  word  for  word,  what 
Anno  has  written  of  me." 

"But,  my  liege,"  said  Sigefrid,  who  heard  with  hor- 
ror this  proposition,  "  his  words  are  harsh  and  severe, 
and  —  " 

"  And  they  are  so,  because  you  yourself  think  them 
to  be  true,"  interrupted  Henry.  "  I  shall,  however,  cast 
no  blame  on  the  narrator,  because  he  has  told  me  an 
unpleasant  tale,  which  I  insisted  upon  hearing.  If  you 
had  here  the  letters  of  Anno,  and  presented  them  to  me 
for  perusal,  I  should  thank  you  for  showing  them  to  me,  no 
matter  how  unpleasing  might  be  their  import.  And  so 
it  is  now,  in  listening  to  you,  whilst  narrating  theii-  con- 


94  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

tents,  I  shall  fancy,  not  that  I  hear  the  voice  of  Sigefrid, 
but,  that  I  hear  recited  the  words  of  Anno." 

"  But,  your  Majesty,  I  do  not  know  how  to  pronounce 
these  words — "  said  Sigefrid. 

Henry  impatiently  stamped  his  foot ;  and,  in  the  in- 
stant, Diedrich  wrenched  his  dagger  from  the  table,  and 
placing  it  by  the  side  of  his  goblet,  looked  at  the  arch- 
bishop, and  in  a  voice,  loud  as  the  roar  of  a  lion,  gave 
utterance  to  the  single  word  — 

"  Talk!" 

The  archbishop  started  as  if  he  had  received  an  elec- 
tric shock.  Henry  smiled  to  see  the  effect  which  the 
fear  of  his  brute  guest  had  produced  upon  the  prelate, 
and  then  in  a  voice,  soft  and  sweet  as  that  of  a  love-sick 
maiden,  he  said  — 

"  Honest  Diedrich,  do  not  interrupt  the  pious  arch- 
bishop ;  when  he  speaks  he  does  not  like  to  hear  the 
voice  of  another.  And  now,  good  Sigefrid,  as  you  were 
saying,  '  Anno  of  Cologne  thus  wrote  to  Hildebrand  of 
Kome,  greeting,  and  begging  the  benefit  of  his  pious 
prayers,'  and  then  proceeded  thus  —  You  see  I  have 
given  you  the  commencement  of  his  letter.  Let  us  now 
hear  the  remainder.  No  further  preface,  I  pray  you.  I 
repeat,  I  feel  that  I  am  listening  to  his  words,  and  not 
to  yours.  Go  on,  I  say ;  for  his  very  words,  I  tell  you, 
I  will  have." 

"  Talk"  grunted  Diedrich,  as  if  he  were  addressing 
himself  to  his  broad-bladed  dagger,  and  not  to  the  dis- 
mayed prelate. 

Sigefrid  felt  that  he  could  not  with  safety  any  longer 
refuse  ;  that  his  very  life  now  depended  on  his  candor, 
and  whilst  his  words  purported  to  be  spoken  alone  to 
Henry,    his    eyes   remained,    as   if  fascinated,    by  the 


HENRY   IV.,   KING   OP   GERMANY.  95 

slightest  movement  of  the  fierce  man  •who  sat  opposite 
to  him. 

"  Then,"  said  the  archbishop,  "  since  your  Majesty 
insists  upon  it,  I  must  tell  you  that  Anno,  in  writing 
to  Hildebrand,  deplores  that,  notwithstanding  all  the 
pains  he  had  taken  in  your  education,  he  yet  greatly 
fears  nothing  but  a  miracle  from  heaven  can  save  you 
from  perdition  —  that  you,  the  son  of  a  saintly  father, 
and  of  a  virtuous  mother,  have  abandoned  yourself  to 
the  grossest  debaucheries  and  the  most  flagrant  vices  — 
that  being  married  to  a  most  kind,  amiable,  and  tender 
wife,  you  have  exchanged  her  society  for  that  of  the 
vilest  of  her  sex  —  but,"  continued  the  Archbishop  of 
Mayence,  starting  up  in  terror,  and  casting  himself  on 
the  earth  before  Henry,  "  save,  O,  save  me,  from  the 
dagger  of  that  dreadful  man." 

"  Sheathe  your  dagger,  honest  Diedrich,  it  is  not 
wanted  here,"  said  Henry,  feeling  a  malignant  pleasure 
in  witnessing  the  fright  of  the  old  man  who  clung  to 
his  knees.  **  Ai'ouse  yourself,  Sigefrid.  When  Count 
Diedrich  clutched  his  dagger,  as  if  about  to  disembowel 
an  enemy,  he  had  no  thought  of  injuring  even  a  single 
hair  of  so  venerable,  so  good,  so  pious,  and  so  clever  an 
archbishop  as  you.  He  knows  —  for  he  is  very  shrewd, 
even  though  no  orator,  as  you  are  —  that  you  did  but 
faithfully  repeat  the  unkind  expressions  of  another,  and 
not  your  own  sentiments.  He  knows  —  for  I  have  told 
him  so  —  that  you  are  one  of  my  surest,  best,  and  tcnder- 
est  friends  ;  that  you  love  your  king,  almost  as  much  as 
he  does  ;  and  therefore,  though  he  does  not  say  it,  nor 
even  look  it,  he  has  a  most  tender  regard  for  you. 
There,  rouse  yourself,  Sigefrid,  and  take  your  place 
again  at  the  board.     There   now  —  see   how  Diedrich 


96  THE  POPE   AND   THE  EMPEEOR. 

smiles  on  you.  It  is  a  smile,  I  can  tell  you,  though  it 
looks  so  like  a  frown.  And  now  listen  to  him.  Die- 
drich,  do  you  not  love  this  archbishop  ?  " 

"  Much"  growled  Diedrich,  as  he  crunched  some  dates. 

"  There  now,  Sigefrid,  be  content,  for  there  is  in  that 
little  '  much '  of  Count  Diedrich  far  more  of  genuine 
charity,  brotherly  love,  tender  affection,  and  softness 
of  disposition  than  could  be  discovered  in  an  hour's 
sermon  from  the  lips  of  Anno,  Archbishop  of  Cologne. 
O,  it  is  a  '  much '  that  means  far  more  than  you,  Sige- 
frid, with  all  your  book  learning,  can  divine  :  it  means, 
among  other  things,  this  —  that  I,  Diedrichj  Count  of 
the  brave  city  of  Treves,  and  my  trusty  friend,  Henry 
of  Germany,  are  obliged,  but  not  flattered  by  your  faith- 
ful narrative  of  the  unkind  words  spoken  of  us  by  that 
arch-hypocrite.  Anno  of  Cologne  ;  for —  "  and  Henry's 
sneering,  gibing  tones,  hitherto  used  in  speaking  to  the 
Archbishop  of  Mayence,  here  suddenly  changed  to 
those  of  a  man  whose  violence  of  passion  rendered  his 
voice  husky,  "  For,"  he  continued,  "  Anno  is,  I  swear 
to  you,  an  arch-hypocrite,  a  morose,  abominable,  envious 
hypocrite,  who  hates  in  others  the  enjoyment  of  those 
pleasures  which  he  has  denied  himself,  because  to 
gratify  his  insatiable  lust  for  power,  he  considers  it  neces- 
sary that  the  vulgar  herd  of  mankind  should  regard 
him  as  a  saint.  Ay,  a  base  and  artful  hypocrite,  who 
to  spite  me  in  my  childhood,  converted  my  days  of 
young  enjoyment  into  long,  long  hours  of  tears  and 
stripes  —  ay,  even  stripes  and  mortifications." 

"  Your  Majesty  surprises  me  —  I  did  not  know,  until 
this  moment,  that  Anno  of  Cologne  had  ever  done  you 
personal  wrong,"  said  Sigefrid. 

'*  Then  listen  —  and  see    by  what  a  base  device  he 


HENRY   IV.,  KING  OF  GERMANY.  97 

lured  me  from  my  mother's  side,  when  I  was  but  a 
mere  boy,"  continued  Henry.  "  Anno  was  my  father's 
confessor,  and  so  cruel  was  he  to  that  good,  weak  man, 
that  he  has  been  known  to  impose  upon  him  —  upon 
his  sovereign  —  the  emperor  —  so  harsh  and  brutal  a 
penance  as  the  discipline  —  I  vow  to  you  that  he  has 
actually  compelled  the  emperor,  before  he  placed  upon 
his  shoulders  the  imperial  robes,  to  have  his  flesh 
bruised  and  mangled  by  the  torturing  whip  of  the  disci- 
pline, as  if  he  were  a  malefactor.  My  father  M'as  some- 
times so  pious,  that  he  forgot  he  was  an  emperor  ;  but 
Anno  never  was  so  forgetful.  He  always  remembered 
that  he  was  confessor  to  the  emperor,  and  he  won  fame 
for  himself  at  my  father's  cost ;  for  the  same  man  who 
insisted  that  the  emperor  should  thus  misuse  his  royal 
person,  if  he  had  but  expressed  a  single  word  in  anger, 
would,  if  his  penitent  were  a  poor  man,  be  content  with 
giving  him  absolution  on  the  condition  of  saying  a  few 
prayers.  And  so  Anno  made  himself  loved  by  the 
mob  —  and  that,  too,  as  a  priest  who  was  a  foe  to  the 
rich,  and  a  friend  to  the  poor.  Artful,  designing, 
scheming  hypocrite  that  he  is,  and  fully  as  ambitious  as 
he  is  artful.  Upon  discovering  that  my  father's  death 
deprived  him  of  the  power  he  had  hitherto  exercised  — 
that  all  the  influence  of  the  state  was  in  the  hands  of 
my  mother,  because  she  had  the  personal  charge  of  me, 
the  infant  King  of  Germany,  he  resolved  upon  snatch- 
ing me  away  from  her  ;  and,  as  he  could  not  make  the 
attempt  by  open  force,  he  resolved  upon  accomplishing 
it  by  means  of  a  foul  and  cunning  device. 

"  My  good  mother  !  tender,  and  kind,  and  pioiis  as 
she  is,  always  bore  in  mind  that,  though  an  infant,  I  was 
still  a  king  —  that,  as  a  king,  I  had  a  right  to  have  my 
9 


98  THE  POPE   AND   THE   EMPEROE. 

wishes  consulted,  and  that  on  no  account  was  I  to  he 
thwarted.  Thus  was  I  passing  my  childhood,  when, 
one  day,  as  I  was  amusing  myself  on  St.  Swibert's  isle, 
in  the  Ehine,  I  was  visited  by  Anno,  the  archbishop, 
Otho,  the  Duke  of  Bavaria,  and  three  other  conspira- 
tors —  villains,  whose  audacious  deed  has  left  a  hot  and 
burning  brand  within  my  memory  —  never  to  be  effaced, 
never  to  be  appeased  —  never  —  not  even  by  their 
blood.  What  say  you,  Diedrich,  for  in  such  a  case  you 
are  a  better  judge  than  an  archbishop.  Should  such  an 
offence  be  pardoned  ?" 

"  Never j'^  growled  Diedrich,  as  the  wild  beast  growls 
when  it  scents  from  a  distance  the  blood  of  its  destined 

"  Never  —  never,"  continued  Henry.  "  But  observe 
how  this  old  hypocrite  of  Cologne  can  gild  over^  with 
sweet  smiles  and  honeyed  words,  the  most  malignant 
designs.  I  was  a  child,  amusing  myself  with  compan- 
ions of  my  own  age,  and  attended  by  my  mother,  and 
guarded  by  our  miHtary  retainers.  I  was  so  amusing 
myself  on  the  island,  when  Anno  of  Cologne,  and  Otho, 
the  Duke  of  Bavaria,  landed  there.  They  were  hospi- 
tably received  —  and,  when  the  feast  was  over.  Anno 
prayed  of  me  to  come  on  board  and  inspect  a  magnifi- 
cent barge,  recently  constructed  for  him.  I  did  so.  I 
perceived  that  he  had  waiting  at  the  water's  edge  a  ves- 
sel, that  seemed  to  be  formed,  on  the  outside,  of  one 
enormous  sea  shell,  and  its  interior  lined  with  mother- 
of-pearl  ;  that  the  seats  were  composed  of  silver  —  and 
the  oars,  of  burnished  gold,  were  handled  by  men  who 
wore  the  helmets  and  armor  of  the  ancient  llomans, 
whiLst  sounds  of  ravishing  music  came  from  beneath 
the  decks,  and  filled  the  island,  the  river,  and  the  Rhine- 


HENEY   IV,,   KING   OF   GERMANY.  99 

land  around  with  a  melodious  harmony.  Entranced  by 
the  vision  of  this  gorgeous  barge,  I  bounded  into  it  with 
Anno  and  Otho,  and,  the  moment  I  did  so,  it  moved  off 
imexpectedly  from  the  island.  It  was  whilst  I  was  en- 
gaged in  examining  its  structure  and  parts,  that  I  became 
terrified  upon  beholding  that  the  vigorovis  oarsmen  had 
pushed  us  off  more  than  a  mile  from  the  island  ;  and 
there  sprung,  as  if  by  magic,  out  of  all  parts  of  the 
boat,  bands  of  armed  and  ferocious-looking  men. 

''  And  thus  was  I  —  a  king  —  a  boy  —  entrajiped  and 
carried  off  from  the  empress  my  mother,  and  that,  too, 
by  means  of  the  artful  wiles  of  an  archbishop  —  of  my 
father's  confessor  !  If,  then,  Anno  now  accuses  me  of 
treachery,  of  deceit,  of  perfidy,  let  it  rest  upon  his  con- 
science that  the  successful  practice  of  such  vices  was 
first  acquired  from  his  ovvn  example  —  the  pious,  good 
man,  that  he  is  !  ^' 

*'  When  I  recovered  the  complete  use  of  reason,  I  saw 
Anno  kneeling  by  my  side,  and  —  the  hypocrite  !  — 
weeping.  He  assured  me  that,  however  distasteful  it 
might  be,  what  he  had  done  was  solely  for  my  own  ben- 
efit ;  that  under  my  mother's  tutelage  my  morals  and 
my  education  were  so  utterly  neglected,  that  if  I  were 
to  grow  up  to  be  a  man,  indulged  as  I  had  been,  and 
so  ignorant,  that  I  would  be  absolutely  unfitted  to  rule 
over  others,  both  by  temper  and  by  want  of  knowledge  ; 
that  I  might  be  deprived  of  my  crown  ;  and,  that  the 
reason  he  had  seized  upon  my  person  was,  to  correct 
my  evil  habits  and  improve  my  mind.  Such  were,  at 
the  time,  the  pretexts  put  for^vard  by  him  for  the  grati- 
fication of  his  ambition,  and  thus  deiDriving  me  of  the 
pleasures  I  had  until  then  enjoyed.  According  to  his 
own  account,  now  given  of  me  to  Hildebrand,  my  evil 


100         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

habits  have  not  been  corrected ;  whilst,  as  to  my  igno- 
rance, it  was,  I  admit,  removed  —  curses  on  his  hand  — 
hy  the  scourge  —  with  the  fear  of  which  he  forced  me  to 
learn — to  read,  to  write,  to  study.  Ay — he  did  force 
harshly  into  my  hand  one  powerful  weapon  —  knowl- 
edge. Let  him  and  his  now  beware  how  I  use  it ;  he 
shall  not  descend  to  his  grave  without  bitterly  lamenting 
that  he  bestowed  it ;  he  shall  shed  ten  tears  for  every 
one  that  I  did,  as  a  boy,  in  acquiring  that  knowledge." 

The  thoughts  of  his  fancied  wrongs  as  a  boy  had  ex- 
cited Henry.  He  started  up  fi'om  his  chair,  and  paced 
up  and  down  the  room. 

"  My  good,  my  faithful  friend,  Sigefrid,  I  wish  to 
know  how  goes  on  the  collection  of  the  tithes  claimed 
by  you  in  Thuringia  and  in  Saxony  ?  " 

This  question,  put  by  the  king,  produced  an  instanta- 
neous change  in  the  #ountenance  of  the  archbishop ;  all 
trapes  of  fear  vanished,  and  every  symptom  of  repulsion 
disappeared,  when  the  prelate  found  that  a  question  was 
addressed  to  him,  by  the  sovereign,  upon  a  subject  which 
he  had  set  his  whole  heart  and  soul  upon. 

"  Alas  !  my  liege,"  replied  the  archbishop,  "  the  an- 
swer given  to  me  by  Thuringians  and  Saxons  is  the 
same.     They  will  pay  me  no  tithes." 

"  And  Avherefore  ?  "  asked  Henry.  "  Assuredly  the 
Archbishop  of  Maycncc  would  demand  nothing  but 
what  the  church  sanctions?" 

"  God  forbid  it  should  be  otherwise  !  "  answered  the 
archbishop.  "  I  demand  tithes  from  districts  that  lie 
within  my  archiepiscopal  principality.  The  Thuringians 
and  Saxons  alone  refuse  to  pay  tithes ;  and  they  allege, 
as  the  reason  for  their  refusal,  that  the  claim  is  one,  till 
now,  unheard  of,  and  therefore  one  to  the  enforcement 


HENRY  IV.,   KING  OF   GERMANY.  101 

of  wliicli  they  will  not  submit.  They  say  they  will  not 
collect  tithes  for  me  to  expend  the  produce  in  Mayence, 
far  away  from  them ;  that  where  there  is  a  monastery, 
which  gives  back  to  the  poor  the  tithes  gathered  from 
rich  and  poor,  they  will  pay  them,  and  nowhere  else  ; 
that  where  there  are  not  bishops  required,  nor  priests 
wanted,  they  will  pay  no  tithes  to  an  archbishop  ;  that, 
in  short,  they  hold  their  lands  tithe-free,  and  will  not 
pay  them  to  noble,  prince,  king,  nor  archbishop ;  that 
such  is  the  custom  of  the  Saxon  race,  as  sanctioned  by 
their  conqueror,  Charlemagne,  and  they  will  die  sooner 
than  submit  to  be  deprived  of  their  ancient  rights  and 
immunities." 

"  O,  this  is  but  the  brawling  of  a  mob  of  serfs,"  ob- 
served Henry,  "  and  merely  worthy  of  the  scoff  of  a 
court  jester.  Why  not  send  your  knights  and  military 
retainers  amongst  them,  and  force  them,  by  the  edge  of 
the  sword,  to  pay  what  you  demand  ?  " 

"  I  have  done  so,"  replied  Sigefrid  ;  "  and  I  regret  to 
say  that  wherever  my  armed  men  appeared,  the  whole 
country  rose  in  insurrection  against  them.  Many  of  my 
forces  were  killed,  and  the  others,  by  a  speedy  retreat, 
with  difficulty  saved  themselves  from  annihilation.  I 
have  failed  —  utterly  failed.  They  have  despised  the 
prayers  of  my  messengers,  and  broken  the  swords  of  my 
retainers ;  and  now,  I  am  not  only  defrauded  of  my 
rights,  but  I  am  contemned  for  demanding  what  I  had 
not  the  power  of  exacting." 

"  This  is  serious  news,  indeed,  Sigefrid.  It  seems  to 
me  that  you  must  have  more  opponents  in  Thuringia 
and  Saxony,  to  your  claims,  than  the  mere  dull  tillers 
of  the  fields,"  remarked  Henry. 

"  Alas  !  I  have,"  rephed  the  archbishop.  "  The  Sax- 
9* 


102         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

on  nobles,  who  ought  to  ninke  common  cause  vrith  me, 
are  arrayed  against  me.  Their  leader  is  Otho,  Duke  of 
Bavaria." 

"  "What !  my  old  persecutor  —  he  who  kidnapped  me 
on  the  Rhine,"  interrupted  Henry. 

"  It  is  the  same ;  and  with  him,  and  as  instigators,  I 
am  told,  of  this  opposition,  are  the  Count  Dedi,  his  wife 
Adela,  Dedi  the  younger,  and  the  young  Duke  Magnus," 
continued  Sigefrid. 

As  Sigefrid  gave  utterance  to  these  words,  there  came, 
suddenly  rushing  into  the  chamber,  that  confused  mur- 
mur of  sounds  which  always  arises  from  a  great  multi- 
tude of  persons,  however  quiescent,  when  densely  pressed 
together,  and  which  seems  like  the  surging  of  a  mighty 
sea,  if  its  peaceful  onward  course  is  impeded,  though  it 
cannot  be  interrupted,  by  some  temporary  obstacle  ;  and 
whilst  this  confused  din  continued,  and,  as  it  appeared, 
filled  the  air,  it  was  broken,  but  only  for  an  instant,  by 
a  sudden  clash  of  arms,  followed  by  one  or  two  cries, 
and  then  the  sound  appeared  to  disperse,  as  quickly  and 
as  unexpectedly  as  it  had  arisen. 

As  the  first  murmur  penetrated  the  chamber,  Diedrich. 
started  from  the  seat  on  which  he  had  been  reposing, 
and,  as  if  his  ear  were  as  sure  a  guide  to  him  as  his  sense 
of  smelling  is  to  the  blood-hound,  an  instant's  watchful 
listening  appeared  to  apprise  him  that  no  exertion  on  his 
part,  as  a  warrior,  would  be  rec^uired,  and  therefore  he 
sunk  back  again  into  his  half-recumbent,  half-sitting 
attitude.  It  was  not  so  with  the  archbishop,  who,  clasp- 
ing Henry's  left  hand  between  both  his  own,  seemed 
to  listen  to  those  distant  sounds  in  an  agony  of  terror. 
Henry  looked  to  Diedrich,  and  perceiving  the  manner 
in   which   he    treated    this    unexpected    incident,   re- 


HENRY  IV.,   KING   OF  GERMANY.  103 

mained  himself  unmoved.  He  vras  about  to  assure 
Sigefrid  that  no  danger  need  be  apprehended,  when  he 
perceived  that  some  one  had  entered  the  room,  and  had 
noiselessly  knelt  down  and  kissed  his  knee.  He  looked 
at  the  courtier  who  bent  his  head  before  him,  and  then 
gazed  in  his  fiice,  and  as  the  eyes  of  king  and  courtier 
met,  Henry  started  up  from  his  chair,  and  exclaimed : 

''Good  heavens!  Werenher,  what  has  befallen  you  ? 
—  your  limbs  totter,  your  lips  tremble,  your  face  is  pal- 
lid as  that  of  a  corpse,  except  that  upon  your  forehead 
and  right  cheek  there  is  a  trace  of  red  —  so  red,  that  I 
would  almost  swear  some  one  had  spurted  blood  upon 
you.     Is  it  so  ?  " 

"  I  felt  suddenly  ill  as  I  entered  the  fortress,"  replied 
Werenher ;  "  but  still  I  deemed  it  to  be  my  duty  to  apprise 
your  Majesty  at  once,  that  I  have  succeeded  in  my  en- 
terprise —  fully,  and  I  trust  to  your  satisfaction.  I  would 
not,  however,  for  that  alone  have  intruded  on  your  Ma- 
jesty's presence  at  this  moment ;  but  that  I  have  intelli- 
gence for  you  that  will  not  brook  delay." 

"  And  what  may  that  be,  which  even  in  your  estima- 
tion can  be  more  important  than  the  accomplishment  of 
the  command  I  confided  to  you  ? "  inquired  Henry, 
somewhat  irritated  upon  finding  that,  in  the  opinion  of 
his  servants  and  courtiers,  any  thing  could  possibly  be  of 
more  consequence  than  the  execution  of  an  order  that 
he  had  given. 

"  It  is,  that  Magnus,  the  Duke  of  Saxony ;  Otho, 
Duke  of  Bavaria ;  the  Dedis,  father  and  son  ;  Avith  the 
Countess  Adela,  are  at  this  moment  in  Frankfort." 

"  In  Frankfort !  "  exclaimed  Henry  and  the  archbishop 
in  one  breath,  and  quite  taken  by  surprise. 

"  Yes,  and  I  believe  for  some  treasonable  purpose," 


104  THE  POPE  AXD   TEE  EMPEEOR. 

said  Werenher,  "  for  I  myself  recognized,  as  I  entered 
the  portal,  the  younger  Dedi,  disguised  as  a  Saxon  serf. 
As  to  Magnus,  I  am  aware  that  he  has  pretensions  that 
run  counter  to  the  desires  of  your  Majesty." 

"  He  !  —  pretensions  !  —  opposed  to  me  !  "  exclaimed 
Henry,  his  face  flushing  with  scorn  and  indignation. 

"  Yes,"  continued  Werenher,  "  but  so  purely  personal 
and  boyish,  that  they  are  more  worthy  of  your  mirth 
than  of  your  anger.  The  nature  of  them  I  can  alone 
confide  to  your  Majesty  in  private." 

"  If  he  place  himself,"  said  Henry,  "  but  for  an  in- 
stant —  ay,  a  single  instant  —  in  my  path,  he  must 
be " 

As  he  spoke  these  words,  he  perceived  that  Diedrich 
had  placed  his  hand  upon  his  sword.  The  action  re- 
minded Henry  that  he  ought  to  be  more  cautious,  espe- 
cially in  the  presence  of  the  archbishop,  and  he  continued, 
by  saying  : 

"  He  must  be  —  watched.  Thanks,  Diedrich,  this  is 
not  a  case  in  which  your  services  will  be  required.  I 
need  not  tell  you,  my  reverend  archbishop,  of  that  which 
must  have  reached  you  by  rumor  —  the  foul  hag  that 
sits  at  the  palace  gates  of  kings,  and  trumpets  forth  to 
the  world  their  slightest  misdeeds  —  I  need  not  admit 
that  my  youth  has  not  been,  and  is  not  even  now,  free 
from  the  practice  of  those  sins,  which  keep  pace  with 
the  juvenile  years  of  most  men.  I  admit  that  I  do, 
with  justice,  bear  the  reputation  of  being  a  bad  husband  ; 
and  yet,  I  may  say,  in  my  own  vindication,  that  I  am 
not  as  wicked  as  I  appear  to  be.  I  was  not  more  than 
fifteen  years  of  age,  when  motives  of  policy  induced 
those  who  had  care  of  me  as  a  king,  to  force  upon  me  a 
marriage  with  the  Italian  maiden.  Bertha.     It  was  a  mar- 


HENET  IV.,  KING  OF   GERMANY.  105 

riage  —  not  a  union  —  then  most  odious,  as  it  has,  ever 
since,  been  most  repugnant  to  me. 

"  I  admit  to  you,  as  I  am  prepared  to  avow  to  the 
world,  that  Bertha  is  deserving  of  the  respect  of  all  per- 
sons —  that  she  is  amiable,  excellent,  charitable  —  and 
all  that  man  could  desire  to  see  of  virtue  in  a  female ; 
but  still  she  is  now,  and  ever  has  been,  so  personally 
odious  to  me,  that  I  never  could,  and  never  can,  treat 
her,  or  consider  her  as  my  wife :  I  seek  then  to  be  sepa- 
rated from  my  maiden  wife,  who  has  ever  lived  with  me, 
as  the  saintly  Cunigunda  lived  with  the  blessed  Empe- 
ror Henry — totally  and  absolutely  separated  from  her 
husband. 

"  I  wish  to  be  divorced  from  Bertha,  in  order  that, 
choosing  some  dame  for  my  wife,  who  can  win  my  love 
and  secure  my  affections,  I  may  cease  to  live,  as  I  confess 
I  have  been,  in  a  state  of  sin. 

"  Let  the  church  but  free  her  champion  from  this 
marriage,  and  then,  with  a  safe  conscience,  I  can  prose- 
cute the  war  against  the  Saxons  for  tithes.  The  church 
can,  if  she  will,  pronounce  such  a  divorce ;  and  if  Sige- 
frid,  the  Archbishop  of  Mayence,  declares  that  he  is 
favorable  to  a  divorce,  there  are  few  prelates  in  Germany, 
I  am  conscious,  who  will  presume  to  array  themselves 
against  his  opinion,  or  dispute  his  judgment.  What  say 
you,  Sigefrid  ? " 

"  That  your  INIajesty,"  replied  Sigefrid,  musing,  "sub- 
mits to  my  consideration  a  veiy  nice  and  difficult  point. 
Taking,  as  I  am  bound  to  do,  that  all  your  Majesty  now 
states  to  me,  is  a  fact,  which  can  be  proved  upon  oath ; 
and,  especially,  that  you  and  Queen  Bertha  have  been, 
in  name,  but  man  and  wife ;  then  I  can  hold  out  the 
hope  to   you  of  a   successful  issue  to  your  suit ;    and 


106  THE  POPE  AND   THE  EMPEROR. 

taking,  as  I  say,  that  this  is  capable  of  proof,  I  will 
struggle  to  promote  the  divorce.  I  will,  I  say,  labor 
with  each  of  the  j^relates  in  private,  to  induce  them  to 
adopt  my  views,  and  to  act  in  coincidence  with  your 
wishes." 

"  But  how  soon  shall  all  this  be  done  ?  How  many 
months  or  years  may  be  wasted  in  useless  negotiations  ? " 
inquired  Henry,  somewhat  impatiently. 

"  Within  three  weeks  of  this  time,  I  trust,"  said 
Sigefrid.  "  I  will  summon  a  synod  in  Frankfort,  for 
to-morrow  three  weeks,  and  I  shall  labor,  meanwhile, 
to  have  it  as  fully  attended  as  I  can,  by  those  who  adopt 
my  views.  If  others  should  be  there  who  may  differ 
from  us,  I  may  deplore,  but  I  cannot  prevent  it ;  for 
once  a  synod  is  convoked  by  me,  all  the  bishops  will 
be  entitled  to  a  voice  in  its  deliberations.  In  such  a 
task  as  this,  not  a  moment  is  to  be  lost.  I  shall,  there- 
fore, this  very  night  travel  to  IMayence,  and  commence, 
at  the  earliest  dawn,  to  toil  for  you." 

"  O  that  all  who  adhere  to  me  were  like  my  trusty 
Diedrich,"  said  the  king,  when  alone ;  "  a  wolf-dog, 
that  can  think  and  act,  and  never  trouble  me  with  his 
scruples.  Then,  indeed,  the  battle  could  be  but  a  short 
one  between  the  imperial  crown  and  the  tiara  —  a  good 
sword,  and  a  sure  dagger,  would  bring  it  to  a  successful 
termination. 

"  It  is  not  so,  and  therefore  I  must  play  the  hypocrite 
—  speak  false  words  to  false  men,  who  know  that  the 
words  are  false,  and  yet  seek  to  quiet  their  consciences 
by  pretending  to  believe  them  true.  Base  wretches  as 
they  are,  I  loathe  them  all,  and  the  more  loathe  them, 
when  I  compare  them  with  Diedrich." 

"  I  pray  your  Majesty's  pardon,  if  I  have  disturbed 


HENRY  IV.,   KING   OP  GERIIANY.  107 

you,"  said  Egen,  here  entering  the  chamber  ;  "  I  was 
told  that  you  commanded  my  attendance." 

*'  I  did,  Egen,"  answered  Henry.  "  I  wish  to  know 
how  fares  the  lady  you  admire  so  much." 

"  She  is  still  oppressed  with  grief  at  the  sudden  re- 
moval from  her  family,"  said  Egeu.  "  At  present  she 
is  totally  unconscious  of  the  honor  your  Majesty  has 
conferred  upon  her,  in  deigning  to  direct  she  should  be 
conveyed  to  one  of  your  castles.  Your  Majesty's  de- 
sire of  her  being  received  in  her  chamber  by  two  of  your 
female  attendants,  dressed  in  the  garb  of  nuns,  and 
especially  by  hearing  one  of  them,  who  calls  herself  '  the 
Sister  Adelaide,'  directing  that  sentinels  should  be  placed 
at  her  door,  night  and  day,  to  guard  her  from  intrusion, 
have  tended  to  tranquillize  her  mind." 

"  I  rejoice  to  hear  it,"  observed  Henry.  "  There  is 
nothing  more  hatefid  to  my  sight  than  a  weeping  woman. 
I  detest  Queen  Bertha,  because  she  is  always  in  tears. 
A  woman  should  never  presume  to  appear  in  the  pres- 
ence of  a  monarch  unless  her  face  be  decked  with  smiles. 
Tears  are  so  selfish  —  they  prove  that  a  woman  is  think- 
ing of  herself  and  not  of  me.  But  enough  of  this  new 
toy.  Come,  Egen,  with  me  to  my  bed-chamber.  I  shall 
there  disclose  to  you  a  project,  in  the  execution  of  which, 
there  will  be  required,  on  your  part,  as  much  wit  as 
boldness." 

"  My  life  is  your  jNIajesty's  —  dispose  of  it  as  you  will. 
If  I  lose  it  in  serving  you,  then  it  will  be  well  em- 
ployed for  so  kind  and  so  generous  a  master,"  answered 
Egen. 

"  I  know  well  your  fidelity,  Egen ;  but  I  know  not 
how  I  can  adequately  reward  it,"  said  Henry,  with  his 
constant,  sweet,  dubious  smile  upon  his  rosy  lips. 


108         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

CHAPTER    VIII. 

THE    CAPTIVE    AND    THE    JAILER. 

Beatrice  was  a  prisoner  in  the  Castle  of  Frankfort, 
which,  from  its  strength  of  position,  thickness  of  wall, 
and  number  of  defenders,  might  be  regarded  as  a  for- 
tress ;  but,  from  its  vastness,  richness,  and  magnificence, 
was  more  generally  designated  as  the  palace  of  the  Ger- 
man kings,  in  this  portion  of  their  wide-spread  domin- 
ions. The  apartment  in  which  Beatrice  was  confined 
was  a  square  chamber,  the  sides  of  which  were  covered 
with  magnificent  tapestry,  worked  in  gold  and  brilliant 
colors,  and  proving  to  what  a  degree  of  perfection  the  art 
of  embroidery  had  then  been  carried.  Ornaments  of  gold, 
and  silver,  and  bronze,  were  to  be  seen  strewed  about ;  and 
some  of  them,  especially  the  small  statues,  were  mould- 
ed with  such  exquisite  grace,  that  it  was  plain  they  had 
descended  to  the  German  king  as  heirlooms  of  that 
Roman  Empire,  of  which  he  assumed  to  be  the  repre- 
sentative. The  centre  of  the  room  was  lighted  by  what 
would  now  be  called  a  small  window,  and  which  showed 
to  the  occupant  of  the  chamber  that  it  constituted  the 
recess  between  two  projecting  towers  on  both  sides,  and 
that  it  was  not  only  overlooked  by  them,  but  that,  in 
case  of  necessity,  the  room  itself  could  be  commanded 
by  the  arrow  shots  of  the  towers  that  looked  into  it. 
This  room,  which  seemed  to  have  been  fitted  up  for  the 
care  of  any  prisoners  on  whom  it  might  be  desirable  to 
exhibit,  at  the  same  time,  every  desire  for  their  conven- 
ience and  their  careful  keeping,  looked  down  upon  the 
smooth  waters  of  the  river  Maine,  as  they  glided  over 


THE   CAPTIVE   AND   THE    JAILER.  109 

that  eventful  ford,  wliich,  in  the  year  783,  had  been 
pointed  out  to  the  flying  Franlcs,  by  a  timid  deer,  at  a 
moment  "when,  but  for  that  discovery,  they  must  have 
fallen  victims  to  the  unrelenting  vengeance  of  Wittikind, 
and  the  undying  hatred  of  the  remorseless  Saxons. 

It  was  at  the  window  of  this  apartment  that  Beatrice  sat, 
gazing  listlessly  upon  the  Ford-of-the-Franks.  She  was 
worn  out  with  want  of  sleep  and  of  food ;  for  she  had 
carefully  attended  to  the  words  of  the  countess  —  she 
*'  neither  ate  nor  drank  " —  she  had  not  even  moistened 
her  lips  with  a  single  drop  of  water.  It  was  thus  she 
sat,  with  aching  head  and  saddened  heart,  all  her  feelings 
engrossed  with  the  one  thought  —  the  agonizing  despair 
of  her  mother  upon  discovering  her  abduction.  With  the 
first  dawn  of  the  coming  day  she  had  taken  her  seat  at 
that  window,  and  the  day  had  advanced  about  five  hours, 
•when,  she  knew  not  why,  she  found  her  eye  attracted  to 
what  appeared  to  her  to  be  a  little  white  banner,  that 
fluttered  upon  one  of  the  towers  of  the  cathedral,  at  some 
distance  from  her,  and  all  communication  Avith  which  was 
cut  off  by  the  interfluent  stream  of  the  Maine.  Her  eye 
had  observed  this  long  before  her  mind  had  attended  to 
it.  She  could  not  tell  when  she  had  first  noticed  it,  nor 
why  she  now  thought  there  was  any  thing  strange  in  its 
appearance.  She  was  only  certain  of  this,  that  when  she 
first  looked  upon  the  cathedral  the  white  flag  M'as  not 
there,  and  now,  so  confused  were  her  faculties,  by  her 
sleepless  grief,  that  she  was  as  little  certain  whether  it 
had  been  there  a  minute  or  an  hour  before  it  first  induced 
her  to  watch  its  tremulous  movements.  The  sight  of  that 
flag  inspired  her  with  hope.  It  was  the  emblem  of  peace 
and  of  purity  ;  and,  as  it  was  upon  the  church  of  God,  it 
was  significant  of  hope ;  and  it  seemed  to  bid  her  place 
10 


110         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

all  her  confidence  in  Him  to  wliose  honor  and  glory  that 
very  edifice  had  been  erected  by  the  greatest  hero  of 
Christianity  —  Charlemagne.  A  senseless,  mindless  thing 
it  was,  that  white  little  fluttering  flag  ;  and  Beatrice  knew 
it  was  so.  Yet,  since  she  had  last  seen  her  home,  it  was 
the  only  thing  that  denoted  aught  of  good  to  her.  As 
such  she  regarded  it  —  as  such  it  comforted  her ;  and,  for 
the  first  time  since  she  had  been  a  captive,  as  she  gazed 
upon  it,  a  gush  of  tears  came  to  her  eyes,  which  relieved 
and  soothed  her  heart.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she 
felt  that  there  was  a  consolation  in  tears  —  for  the  first 
time  she  experienced  the  truth  of  what  had  been  so  often 
told  to  her,  by  her  mother,  and  the  honest  Agatha  —  that 
it  is  good  to  weep,  if  we  can  be  but  conscious  that  our 
tears  are  shed,  not  in  a  repining,  but  a  submissive  spirit, 
to  whatever  evils  or  trials  God  may  choose  to  subject  us. 

So  was  Beatrice  weeping,  and  gaining  fresh  strength 
for  new  trials  as  she  wept,  when  a  young  and  beautiful 
woman,  arrayed  in  the  garb  of  a  nun,  entered  the  room, 
and  started  back,  almost  with  dismay,  when  she  perceived 
how  changed  had  become,  in -the  course  of  a  few  hours, 
the  appearance  of  Beatrice. 

"  My  child,"  she  said,  "  if  you  persist  in  this  despairing 
grief  but  three  days  longer  you  will  certainly  kill  your- 
self Why,  you  have  neither  eaten,  nor  drank,  nor  slept, 
since  you  came  here." 

"  Nor  Avill  I  do  so,  so  long  as  I  am  a  prisoner  here," 
replied  Beatrice,  ''  unless  the  request  I  made  last  night 
be  complied  with  —  that  of  having,  as  an  attendant,  one 
of  those  poor  Saxon  women  that  I  saw  upon  landing,  and 
who  manifested  so  much  sympathy  for  an  unknown  cap- 
tive." 

"  But  in  case  I  comply  with  your  request,"  said  the 


THE    CAPTIVE   AXD   THE  JAILER.  Ill 

woman,  wlio  called  herself  Sister  Adelaide,  "  will  you 
promise  to  perform  for  me  that  which  I  shall  ask?" 

"  Certainly,  Sister  Adelaide,"  answered  Beatrice  ;  "  for 
one  in  your  holy  garb  could  make  no  improper  request." 

"  It  is,"  replied  Sister  Adelaide,  "  that  you  will  cast 
away  from  you  those  soiled  habiliments  in  which  you 
have  travelled,  and  array  yourself  in  the  robes  of  a  nov- 
ice :   I  ask  no  more." 

''  And  that  I  consent  to  do,"  was  the  answer  of  Bea- 
trice. 

In  a  few  minutes  afterwards,  Sister  Adelaide  led  into 
the  room  a  tall,  gawky-looking  Saxon  girl — one  so  thin 
in  figure,  and  so  juvenile  in  face,  and  so  fresh  in  com- 
plexion, that  she  did  not  appear  to  be  more  than  sixteen 
years  of  age,  and  in  whose  big,  dull,  gray  eyes  there  did 
not  seem  to  be  a  spark  of  intelligence. 

"  Here,"  said  the  sister  Adelaide,  "  is  the  first  Saxon 
maiden  I  could  find.  She  was  standing  at  the  foi'tress 
portal,  and  endeavoring  to  persuade  the  guards  stationed 
there  to  become  the  purchasers  of  some  of  the  wild  flowers 
which  she  has  gathered  in  the  adjoining  forest,  when  I 
had  her  called  before  you.  She  is  well  known,  the  guards 
assured  me,  for  her  innocence  and  simplicity,  and  is  gen- 
erally denominated,  amongst  her  people,  by  the  familiar 
name  of  Gretchen." 

"  And  that  is  the  name  of  an  honest  girl  —  it  is  no  false 
name,"  drawled  out  the  Saxon  maiden. 

"  I  fear,"  observed  the  sister  Adelaide,  "  she  will  be 
but  an  awkward  tirewoman." 

"Not  at  all  —  not  at  all,"  replied  Gretchen,  with 
somewhat  more  animation.  "  There  is  no  one  in  the 
village  can  equal  Gretchen  in  decorating  the  hair  with 
flowers.     In  two  minutes  I  can  weave  a  wreath  of  Mag' 


112  THE  POPE  AND   THE   EMPEROB. 

nus  primroses  and  wisdom  honeysuckles,  wliich  even 
A-dela,  tlie  great  Countess  Dedi,  would  not  be  ashamed 
to  wear." 

"  I  pray  you.  Sister  Adelaide,  let  this  poor,  innocent, 
half-witted  maiden  remain  with  me.  I  am  quite  prepared 
to  excuse  any  awkwardness  she  may  exhibit,  for  the  sake 
of  listening  to  her  innocent  prattle.  Its  very  incoherency 
may  be  a  distraction  to  my  grief." 

Gretchen  had  a  large  basket  filled  with  wild  flowers  on 
her  arm,  and  the  moment  that  the  sister  Adelaide  quitted 
the  room,  she  seated  herself  on  the  floor,  and  commenced, 
as  if  the  matter  on  which  she  was  employed  was  one  of 
vital  importance,  to  take  the  several  flowers,  one  by  one, 
from  the  basket,  and  in  so  doing,  to  ask  Beatrice  if  she 
knew  the  name  of  each,  and  if  she  did,  to  tell  it  to  her. 
Beatrice  answered  all  her  questions,  and  as  she  did  so, 
Gretchen  laughed,  not  boisterously,  but  still  so  loudly 
that  the  idiotic  sounds  of  her  mirth  might  be  heard  by 
any  one,  who  purposely,  or  by  chance,  was  listening  to 
their  conversation.  As  the  name  of  each  flower  was  told 
to  her,  Gretchen  carefully  placed  it  on  the  floor,  so  as  that 
all  the  flowers  of  the  same  species  were  accurately  sorted 
from  the  rest. 

"  And  now,  lady,  here  is  a  flower  that  is  never  known 
to  grow  but  beneath  a  tree  that  shades  the  banks  of  the 
Maine.     Can  you  tell  me  what  it  is  called  ?  " 

Beatrice,  instead  of  answering  her  question,  said : 

"  I  cannot ;  and  even  if  I  could,  instead  of  ansAvering 
your  question,  I  would  ask  you,  how  you  came,  when 
you  entered  this  room,  to  mention  the  names  of  Magnus 
and  of  Adela." 

"  What  a  stupid  fool  I  am,"  said  Gretchen,  "  in  coming 
here  to  make  a  wreath,  without  having  things  to  bind 


THE  CAPTIVE   AND    THE  JAILER.  113 

tliem  together.  It  will  be  hard  if  I  do  not  find  what  I 
want  in  this  grand  chamber.  Here,  lady,  whilst  I  search 
for  it,  I  pray  you  to  look  at  my  cross  ;  it  is  hollow,  and 
has  such  a  fine  relic  inside  of  it.  You  may  examine  it, 
lady,  whilst  I  am  seeking  something  that  is  still  wanting 
to  complete  my  wreath." 

There  was  a  look  of  intelligence  in  the  large  gray  eye 
of  Gretchen  that  startled  Beatrice,  as  she  received  in  her 
hand  the  small,  plain,  black  wood  cross,  which  Gretchen 
had  removed  from  the  folds  of  the  coarse  gown  that  cov- 
ered her  bosom.  Beatrice  opened  the  cross,  and  she  saw 
inscribed  on  a  minute  piece  of  parchment,  these  two  M^ords, 
"  31agnus  —  Adda!"  They  sufficed  to  prove  to  her 
tliat  the  seemingly  idiotic  maiden  was  a  confidential 
messenger,  from  those  who  had  already  proved  themselves 
to  be  her  sincere  friends. 

Gretchen's  examination  seemed  to  give  her  satisfaction, 
for  upon  its  conclusion,  she  ran  over  to  the  window,  at 
which  Beatrice  still  sat,  and  eagerly  asked  : 

"  Have  you  eaten  or  drank  any  thing  since  you  came 
here  ?  " 

"I  have  tasted  nothing  —  not  even  water,"  said  Bea- 
trice. 

"  Thank  God  !  thank  God !  "  said  Gretchen,  falling  on 
her  knees. 

"  Then  here  is  something  for  you  —  it  is  food  such  as 
I  take  myself;  plain,  brown,  coarse  bread,  and  pure  fresh 
milk.  I  would  have  carried  with  me  something  more 
dainty,  but  that  I  was  fearful  my  basket  might  be  ex- 
amined, and  suspicion  excited  if  I  had  with  me  any  thing 
but  what  we  poor  serfs  are  accustomed  to  live  upon. 
Here,  then,  eat,  for  you  must  be  exhausted  for  want  of 
some  refreshment ;  and,  whilst  you  eat,  I  will  tell  you 
10* 


114         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

•whatever  you  may  desire  to  know.  But  before  you  ask 
me  a  question,  let  me  assure  you  that  I  am,  as  the  cross 
•will  have  shown  you,  a  messenger  from  the  Countess 
Adela  and  Duke  Magnus  ;  that  they  bid  me  apprise  you, 
that  there  is  not  a  portion  of  this  fortress  on  which  a  Saxon 
does  not  -watch  from  the  outside ;  that  the  white  flag 
•which  you  may  see  fluttering  on  yonder  church,  was  raised 
this  morning  by  the  hands  of  Magnus ;  that  it  is  planted 
there  to  prove  to  you,  that  in  that  tower  there  is  always 
an  eye  fixed  upon  this  chamber,  and  that  if  you  should 
at  any  time  find  yourself  pressed  by  a  great  danger,  you 
have  but  to  appear  at  this  ■window,  and  raise  your  right 
hand  high  in  the  air ;  or,  if  you  can  learn  that  you  are 
about  to  be  removed  from  this  place,  that  you  will  rest 
both  your  hands  on  the  sill.  If  you  can  find  the  oppor- 
tunity for  doing  either  of  these  things,  then  you  luay  feel 
secure,  whatever  be  the  hazard  of  the  attempt,  that  as- 
sistance will  be  sought  to  be  given  to  you ;  or,  that  to 
whatever  place  you  are  conveyed,  you  will  be  followed, 
and  there,  as  here,  the  attempt  made  to  rescue  you.." 

As  Gretchen  spoke,  her  appearance  seemed  to  alter ; 
the  large,  dull,  gray  eye  was  now  flashing  with  intellect, 
the  gawky  figure  became  graceful  in  all  its  movements, 
and  the  simpleton  countenance  of  the  seeming  girl  was 
changed  to  that  of  a  grave,  earnest,  though  very  young, 
woman. 

"  But  eat  and  drink,  now,  I  pray  you,"  continued 
Gretchen,  "  and  whilst  you  do  so,  I  shall  weave  a  garland 
for  you.  We  must,  if  possible,  not  provoke  the  watchful 
suspicion  of  those  by  whom  you  are  surrounded." 

"  I  feel  grateful  to  you,  Gretchen,  for  what  you  say," 
replied  Beatrice.  "  But  tell  mc,  I  pray,  why  I  have  been 
seized  upon  by  armed  men,  and  carried  away  to  thia 


THE   CAPTIVE   AND   THE    JAILER.  115 

castle,  or  prison,  as  if  I  had  been  guilty  of  some  crime. 
"Why  am  I  so  treated  ?  or,'  why  is  my  dear  mother  com- 
pelled to  suffer  on  my  account  such  grief?  and  then  my 
poor  father  !  and  good  Agatha !  Alas  !  Gretchen,  I  knew 
no  one  else  in  the  world  but  these  and  Magnus.  How 
then  can  I  have  offended  any  one,  that  I  should  be  so 
misused  ?     Can  you  explain  this  to  me,  Gretchen  ?  " 

"  I  can,"  answered  Gretchen,  her  face  flushing  with 
indignation  as  she  spoke.  "  I  can  tell  you  the  cause  of 
all  this.  It  is  that  Germany  is  now  ruled  by  a  miscreant, 
and  not  a  king.  It  is  because  a  base  villain  disgraces  the 
crown,  which  the  second  Henry  sanctified,  and  the  third 
Henry  glorified  by  his  piety  —  it  is  because  a  wretch,  Avho 
has  the  power  of  a  sovereign,  uses  that  power  for  the 
degradation  and  dishonor  of  his  subjects.  I  have  but 
to  look  at  you,  and  I  can  at  once  tell  for  what  offences 
you  are  confined  here.  Your  crimes  consist  in  your 
beauty,  your  youth,  and  your  innocence  ;  and  you  are 
brought  here,  that  you  may  curse  your  beauty,  that  your 
youth  may  be  deplored  with  tears,  and  that  your  inno- 
cence may  be  forever  lost.  Had  heaven  made  you  less 
fair,  had  age  overtaken  you,  or  had  it  been  supposed  that 
sin  had  found  refuge  in  your  heart,  then  you  Avould  be  as 
free  to-day  as  you  were  forty-eight  hours  ago.  Henry 
the  Fourth  would  not  have  deemed  you  fitted  to  be  one 
of  his  victims. 

"  Never,  lady,  did  there  live  so  vile  a  king  as  ours  ;  no 
family  is  safe  from  his  brutal  contamination ;  the  daughter 
of  the  nobleman,  and  the  wife  of  the  serf,  are  alike  perilled, 
if  he  but  chance  to  hear  that  they  are  remarkable,  in  their 
respective  classes  of  life,  for  their  personal  charms,  or 
their  great  virtues.  No  tears,  no  prayers,  no  resistance 
can  protect  them  from  him  ;  for  he  seems  to  feel,  as  the 


116         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

devil  himself  did,  when,  as  we  are  told,  he  gained  ad- 
mission, as  a  serpent,  into  the  gardetf  of  paradise  —  and 
never  rested  until  he  had  covered  it  with  the  slime  of  sin, 
and  made  those  guilty,  who,  before  then,  had  been  inno- 
cent. He  has  wiles  for  the  weak,  and  brute  force  for  the 
resolute.  With  you  he  has  employed  both  ;  he  has  torn 
you  from  your  parents  by  his  vile  hirelings,  the  infidel 
Paterini  of  Worms,  and  he  has  had  you  received  here  by 
some  of  the  worst  of  his  associates  —  his  female  attend- 
ants—  one  of  whom  you  have  just  seen,  disguised  as  a 
nun ;  but  who  is  no  more  a  nun  than  I  am  a  simpleton. 
He  feels  no  shame  in  resorting  to  a  worse  profanation  of 
holy  things  ;  to  effect  his  purposes,  he  pretends,  some- 
times, to  marry  his  victims,  and  has  the  ceremony  per- 
formed by  a  false  priest,  or  a  real  priest  —  in  either  case 
the  ceremony  being  alike  invalid  —  an  imposture,  if 
performed  by  a  person  who  is  not  a  priest  —  a  delusion, 
if  a  real  priest  is  cajoled  into  the  administration  of  such 
a  sacrament,  because  King  flenry  is  already  married. 
Nay,  to  such  an  extent  is  his  profaneness  carried,  that  it 
is  very  generally  believed  he  has  fitted  up  in  one  part  of 
his  dominions  a  gorgeous  palace,  to  which  he  occasionally 
resorts  with  some  of  his  favorites,  men  as  well  as  women, 
and  that  their  days  are  passed  in  the  same  frightful  de- 
baucheries as  were  practised  by  the  lloman  emperors 
before  they  became  Christians  —  debaucheries  so  awful, 
that  it  is  said,  a  person  could  not  even  know  them,  or  be 
told  of  them,  without  sin." 

"  But  how  am  I  to  know  this  terrible  man,  if  I 
should  ever  have  the  misfortune  to  see  him  ?  "  inquired 
Beatrice. 

"  It  is  hard  to  conjecture  whether  he  will  appear 
before  you  as  the  king,  or  disguised  as  one  of  his  sub- 


THE   CAPTIVE   AXD  THE  JAILER.  117 

jects/'  answered  Gretchen ;  "but  in  any  case,  there  are 
three  points  about  him,  which  he  never  can  conceal  — 
his  great  height,  his  violet  blue  eyes,  and  his  mouth, 
which  is  generally  smiling,  and  the  smile  always  distort- 
ing itself  into  a  sneer.  Watch  Henry  as  he  speaks,  and 
you  must  thus  be  able  to  recognize  him.  And  now, 
lady,  permit  me  to  array  you  in  the  garb  of  a  novice, 
and  to  place  upon  your  fair  brow  this  wreath  of  wild 
flowers.  May  each  of  them  rest  as  a  blessing  from 
heaven  on  your  head,  and  be  as  a  safeguard  to  your 
innocence !  " 

Beatrice,  dismayed  with  the  intelligence  she  had 
received,  and  learning,  it  might  be  said,  for  the  first 
time,  what  wickedness  there  is  in  this  world,  how  pow- 
erful is  sin,  and  how  weak  is  virtue,  sat  confounded 
with  horror,  as  Gretchen  decorated  her  person,  and 
removed,  as  well  as  she  could,  the  outward  traces  of 
that  grief  which  had  for  so  many  hours  oppressed  her 
heart,  and  that  still  festered  there. 

"  And  now,  lady,"  said  Gretchen,  when  she  had  com- 
pleted her  task,  "  whenever  the  false  sister  Adelaide 
returns,  she  will  suppose  that  I  have  employed  all  my 
time  in  attending  upon  you.  I  know  not  how  soon  I 
may  be  required  to  depart.  Is  there  any  message  that 
you  would  desire  to  send  to  the  countess  and  Magnus  ? " 

i§  Yes  —  my  thanks  —  my  tearful,  grateful  thanks  to 
both  —  and  the  request,  that  if  it  be  possible,  infor- 
mation may  be  sent  to  my  mother,  as  to  all  that  has 
befallen  me.  Perchance,  my  father  may  be  able  to  in- 
duce King  Henry  to  set  me  free.  If  wealth  can  buy 
my  liberty,  I  know  my  father  superabounds  in  it,  and 
will  not  grudge  to  give  whatever  may  be  demanded." 

"  Wealth   can   do   much   with   King   Henry,"   said 


118  THE  POPE  AND   THE   EMPEEOE. 

Gretchen,  "  foi*  lie  is  as  sordid  as  lie  is  vile.  If  you  do 
not  provoke  his  hatred  —  if  you  do  not  excite  his  enmity 
against  you,  then  there  is  a  chance  that  he  will  sacrifice 
a  caprice  to  obtain  gold.  But  if  he  loves  you,  or  dis- 
likes you,  then  those  stronger  passions  in  his  heart  will 
overmaster  that  strong  passion  —  avarice.  Be  cautious 
with  Henry,  and  place  your  confidence  in  God.  But  — 
lo  !  I  hear  the  door  opened  gently  —  and  now  to  deceive 
the  deceivers." 

As  Gretchen  said  this,  her  manner,  but  not  her  voice, 
changed  as  she  spoke  : 

"  And  now,  lady,  I  pray  you  cry  no  more  —  weeping 
makes  the  eyes  look  so  red  and  so  nasty,  just  like  a 
naughty  red  flowering  weed  popping  up  its  ugly  face 
in  a  bed  of  white  roses." 

*'I  thank  you,  Gretchen,"  said  the  sister  Adelaide, 
here  advancing  into  the  apartment.  "You  have  done 
much  for  the  lady  during  my  absence.  I  pray  you  now 
to  leave  the  room,  as  there  is  one  who  wishes  to  speak 
with  the  lady  Beatrice." 

"  And,  good  Sister  Adelaide,  may  I  not  bring  more 
flowers  to  this  nice  little  girl.  No  one  cries  long 
with  the  fresh  scents  of  the  forest  about  them,"  said 
Gretchen. 

"Yes,  Gretchen.  This  evening  or  to-morrow  you 
can  return.  All  I  now  ask  of  you  is  to  leave  us  for  the 
present,"  replied  Adelaide. 

Gretchen  carefully  picked  up  all  the  flowers  that  she 
had  strewn  about  the  room,  arranged  them  in  her  basket, 
and  without  once  looking  either  at  Adelaide  or  Beatrice, 
left  the  room,  seemingly  deeply  engaged  in  humming 
to  herself  the  words  of  a  nursery  song. 

The  sister  Adelaide  watched  with  great  interest  all 


THE   CAPTIVE  AND  THE  JAILEK.  119 

the  proceedings  of  Gretchen,  and  perceiving  that  she 
had  departed,  apparently  absorbed  in  the  collection  of 
her  flowers  and  the  words  of  her  ballad,  all  suspicion, 
if  any  had  for  a  moment  found  a  resting-place  in  her 
mind,  vanished  utterly  and  completely.  No  sooner 
were  the  sounds  of  Gretchen's  voice  lost  in  the  distant 
passages,  than  Adelaide  turned  with  a  smile  upon  her 
face,  and  said  to  Beatrice  — 

"  This,  child,  has  been  a  strange  handmaiden  for 
you  ;  and  yet  she  has  done  her  work  neatly ;  for  never 
did  I,  in  my  life,  behold  a  novice  so  beautiful  as  your- 
self. You  are,  in  sooth,  now  fitted  to  appear  before  the 
great  man  who  craves  permission  to  see  you." 

'^  A  captive,"  replied  Beatrice,  "  cannot  refuse  per- 
mission to  the  jailer  to  enter  his  own  cell.  I  permit 
nothing,  I  refuse  nothing,  I  am  compelled  to  submit  to 
every  thing.  Such  is  the  will  of  God,  and  I  accept  that 
which  he  ordains." 

"  Wherefore,  child,  thvis  repine,  when  you  know  not 
whether  you  have  cause  for  joy  or  sorrow  ?  "  inquired 
Adelaide. 

"  Wherefore  !  "  said  Beatrice,  starting  up,  and  stand- 
ing erect,  as  she  faced  the  questioner.  "  Wherefore 
repine  ?  you  ask  me  ?  Wherefore  does  the  lamb  bleat 
mournfully  when  the  butcher's  hand  has  torn  it  from 
the  fold  in  Avhich  its  mother  still  remains  —  even 
though  it  knows  not  that  the  knife  is  already  sharpened 
for  its  throat.  Wherefore  does  the  young  lark  die  with 
grief  in  the  gilded  cage  of  the  captor,  but  because  it  has 
been  removed  from  beneath  its  mother's  fostering  wing  ? 
Wherefore  does  a  daughter  repine  when  bands  of  ruffians 
drag  her  from  her  mother's  home,  and  place  her  in  a 
smnptuous  prison  ?     Yet  such  is  the  question  asked  me 


120  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROE. 

by  one  vrh.o  wears  the  garb  of  religion.  0,  God  !  my 
God  !  have  mercy  on  this  world,  if  such  a  question  can 
be  really  asked  me  by  one  who  has  made  her  vows  at 
thy  altar." 

The  handsome  features  of  Adelaide  were  wrinkled 
with  a  frown,  and  her  face  became  ghastly  pale,  as  she 
said : 

"  I  have  observed,  lady,  that  you  do  not  any  longer 
address  me  as  sister.  Why  do  you  suppose  that  I  am 
aught  otherwise  than  what  I  seem  ?  " 

"  God  alone  knows  the  heart,  man  judges  by  appear- 
ances," answered  Beatrice.  "  I  replied,  as  a  Christian 
maiden  to  a  question  that  I  could  not  think  would, 
under  such  circumstances,  be  asked  me  by  one,  who  had 
renounced  sin  and  all  its  pomps.  If  I  have  offended 
you,  I  pray  you  to  pardon  me.  This  is  to  me  a  strange 
world  ;  and  as  yet  I  can  only  judge  of  it  by  what  I 
have  been  taught,  and  not  by  what  I  have  known." 

"  I  forgive  you,  child,"  said  Adelaide,  in  accents 
that  trembled  with  emotion ;  "  but  he  who  seeks  ad- 
mission will  brook  no  longer  delay." 

In  a  few  minutes  afterwards,  Adelaide  returned  to  the 
room,  leading  by  the  hand  one,  that  Beatrice  recognized 
from  Gretchen's  description  of  him,  to  be  King  Henry. 

"  This,"  said  Adelaide,  "  is  his  majesty's  prime  favor- 
ite and  minister,  the  Count  Werenhcr.  He  prays  a  fiew 
moments'  audience  with  you,  and  alone." 

Beatrice  looked  Adelaide  full  in  the  face,  when  she 
heard  the  false  name  pronounced  ;  but  the  latter  glanced 
scornfully  upon  her,  as  if  she  deemed  the  assumption  of 
her  now  pretended  character  necessary  no  longer.  Ade- 
laide did  not  deign  to  give  her  an  explanation ;  bat 
whispered  a  single  word  in  the  ear  of   the  king,  and 


THE   CAPTIVE   AND   THE  JAILER.  121 

then  passed  hastily  from  the  chamber,  closing  fost  the 
door  as  she  passed  outside. 

The  moment  that  Beatrice  heard  the  door  close,  she 
knelt  down,  and  before  Henry  could  utter  a  word,  she 
thus  addressed  him  : 

"My  lord — my  king,  one  of  the  poorest,  weakest, 
and  most  helpless  of  your  thousands  upon  thousands  of 
subjects,  now  kneels  before  you,  and  implores  your 
pity,  if  you  have  compassion  — your  pardon,  if  you 
have  mercy  —  your  protection,  if  you  have  generosity 
in  your  heart. 

"  I  am,  my  lord  and  my  king,  unpractised  in  the 
manners  of  courts ;  and  in  my  ignorance,  I  may,  unin- 
tentionally, offend  you.  I  am  alone  in  the  midst  of 
strangers — I  have  none  to  help  me,  none  to  pity  me, 
none  to  console  me.  I  appeal  then  to  you  —  to  you,  -as 
to  my  sovereign  lord — to  you,  who  have  the  sword  of 
justice  to  punish  the  wicked,  and  the  sceptre  of  power 
to  protect  the  weak.  I  appeal  to  you,  whose  crown  is 
radiant  with  jewels,  because  those  costly  jewels  are 
intended  to  represent  the  heavenly  gifts  of  courage, 
chastity,  beneficence,  magnanimity,  and  charity  :  gifts 
that  render  the  heart  of  a  good  king  a  temple  in  which 
the  virtues  most  willingly  take  up  their  abode." 

"  Maiden,  pardon  me,"  said  Henry,  with  one  of  his 
sweetest  and  most  affectionate  smiles.  "  You  were  told 
that  /  was  Count  Werenher ;  how  came  you  to  address 
me  as  the»king  ?  " 

"  And  what  say  you,  is  your  name  ? "  asked  Beatrice  ; 
"  but  ere  you  answer  that  question,  pause  for  an  instant 
before  you  reply.  I  will  not  kneel  to  a  Count  Weren- 
her, nor  to  any  one  who  bears  that  title  —  but  better  to 
die  as  I  kneel  here,  than  learn  that  the  'king,'  the 
IX 


122  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROE. 

'  sovereign,'  whom  I  have  prayed  for  in  my  infancy,  is 
a  dastard,  who,  contemplating  a  base  deed,  skulks  be- 
neath the  mask  of  a  villain  to  perpetrate  it !  " 

"You  are  right,  Beatrice,"  said  Henry,  somewhat 
moved  by  this  unexpected  appeal.  "  It  is  not  fitting  in 
a  king  to  conceal  his  deeds,  whatever  they  may  be.  He 
should  have  the  courage  to  do,  and  to  defend  them,  in 
the  close  chamber,  as  in  the  broad  field  of  battle.  Rise, 
Beatrice ;  your  king  prays  of  you  to  rise  and  be  seated." 

Beatrice  obeyed  ;  and  as  she  did  so,  she  said  — 

"  I  have  appealed  to  your  Majesty's  generosity ;  for  I 
know  that  I  am  in  your  power  —  and  having  done  so,  I 
now  beseech  your  Majesty  to  tell  me  why  and  where- 
fore I  have  been  torn  from  my  home,  and  conveyed 
here  as  a  prisoner  ?  " 

"  You  have  recommended  your  king  to  be  very  can- 
did," said  Henry,  with  a  cold,  malignant  sneer ;  "  and 
you  shall  soon  discover  that  he  can  be  so.  I  have  sent 
for  you  —  somewhat  rudely,  mayhap,  considering  how 
tenderly  you  have  been  nurtured,  for  more  purposes 
than  one.  I  now  address  myself  to  the  first  of  these. 
It  is  a  very  simple  question.  1  jiray  of  you  to  give  it  a 
plain  and  simple  answer.  It  is  this :  what  is  the  rank 
in  life  of  your  father  ?  " 

"I  know  not,"  answered  Beatrice. 

"  What !  you  know  not  ?  The  daughter  of  a  serf 
knows  that  her  father  cannot  move  from  the  land  on 
which  she  is  born,  without  his  lord's  permission  ;  the 
daughter  of  a  freeman  feels  an  honest  pride  in  looking 
upon  the  sword  and  shield  of  her  sire ;  the  daughter  of 
a  nobleman  boasts  of  her  birth  ;  and  the  fair,  the  accom- 
plished, the  lovely  Beatrice  —  she,  who,  if  she  had  been 
born  a  slave,  might,  like  another  Fredegonda,  be  ele- 


THE   CAPTIVE   AND   THE  JAILER.  123 

vated  to  the  throne  of  a  queen  for  her  beauty,  cannot 
tell  her  lung  what  is  the  rank  in  life  of  her  father. 
This  is  strange !  " 

"  It  may  be  so,  my  liege  ;  but  still  it  is  true.  To  me 
it  never  appeared  strange  ;  for  my  life  was  always  the 
same,  and  I  never  heard  any  allusion  made  to  my  father's 
rank,"  was  the  answer  given  by  Beatrice. 

"  And  his  name  ?  "  inquired  the  king. 

"  I  never  heard  him  called  by  any  other  than  that  of 
Ruebert,"  said  Beatrice,  slightly  blushing,  as  her  moth- 
er's conversation,  then,  for  the  first  time,  flashed  across 
her  memory. 

Henry  knew  not  the  cause  of  her  emotion,  or  of  her 
fear  ;  but  perceiving  that  these  questions  gave  him  an 
advantage  over  his  destined  victim,  be  determined  upon 
proceeding  with  them. 

"  Is  your  father  Ruebert  a  constant  resident  at  As- 
chaffenburg  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,  he  is  not,"  replied  Beatrice.  "  His  coming  and 
his  goinsc  are  unlike  uncertain.  Sometimes  he  remains 
a  day  —  sometimes  a  Aveek  —  sometimes  for  months  to- 
gether ;  and  his  absence  is  as  uncertain  ■ —  sometimes  it 
is  for  a  brief,  sometimes  for  a  long  period." 

"  And  know  you  how  he  is  employed  when  he  is  ab- 
sent ?  " 

*'  No,  my  liege  ;  and,  until  you  put  the  question,  the 
idea  never  occurred  to  me.  All  I  know  is  this,  that  he 
is  very  rich  —  that  he  entertains  a  very  great  respect  for 
your  Majesty  ;  that  he  told  me  to  pray  every  night  and 
morning  for  your  health,  happiness,  and  triumph  over 
your  enemies  ;  and  I  am  quite  sure,  that  jewels,  and 
gold  would  be  gladly  placed  by  him' in  your  hands,  if  I 
were  restored  to  him  safe  and  uninjured." 


124  THE  POPE  AND   THE  EMPEROR. 

"  This  is  most  strange  !  "  exclaimed  Henry,  rather 
speaking  to  himself,  than  addressing  his  observations  to 
Beatrice  ;  for  her  answer  had  completely  bewildered  him. 

"  What  is  most  strange,  my  liege  ?  "  asked  Beatrice. 

"  The  account,"  replied  Henry,  "  that  you  give  me 
of  your  father.  Here  is  a  man,  possessing  unheard-of 
wealth,  engaged  in  some  mysterious  occupation,  of  un- 
known rank,  living  as  if  he  were  a  prince  of  the  empire, 
and  possessing  a  daughter  that  seems  to  be  born  to  a 
throne,  and  yet  that  daughter  knows  no  more  of  her 
father  than  that  she  has  always  heard  him  called  Rue- 
bert !  You  have  recommended  me,  Beatrice,  to  be  can- 
did. Have  you,"  said  Henry,  with  his  withering  tone, 
"  practised  the  lesson,  maiden,  you  would  yourself  so 
earnestly  enforce  ?  " 

"  I  have,  my  liege,"  said  Beatrice,  looking  with  her 
large,  dark,  truthful  eyes  up  to  the  admiring  counte- 
nance of  the  king.  "  I  have  told  you  the  truth  —  the 
simple  truth  —  a  truth  which  every  inquiry  you  may 
choose  to  make  will  fully  confirm." 

"  It  is  well,"  said  Henry.  "  It  is  more  than  I  ex- 
pected to  hear  :  it  is  as  much  as  I  desire  to  know.  And 
now  listen  to  me,  Beatrice.  I  shall  be  perfectly  candid 
with  you.  I  am,  as  you  are  aware,  the  King  of  the 
ancient  empire  of  Germany.  I  am  responsible  to  no 
man  for  my  actions,  and  yet,  so  beneficent  is  my  disposi- 
tion, that  I  desire  to  give  offence  to  as  few  powerful 
enemies  as  possible.  I  believe  that,  as  king,  I  have  a 
right  to  all  in  my  dominions  that  is  most  rich,  most  rare, 
and  most  beautiful,  whether  it  be  the  red  gold,  the  spar- 
kling and  precious  diamonds,  or  maidens,  whose  loveliness 
and  whose  virtues  render  them,  in  my  eyes,  more  valua- 
ble than  gold,  and  more  dear  to  my  heart  than  the  most 
costly  ornaments. 


THE   CAPTIVE  AND   THE   JAILER.  125 

"  I  believe,  I  only  exercise  my  right,  when  I  claim 
any  of  these  for  myself.  I  tell  you,  Beatrice,  there  are 
wise,  grave  jurists  who  maintain  that  these  are  amongst 
the  rights  that  may  not  only  be  claimed,  but  exercised 
by  one,  who  in  his  person  represents  the  Roman  Em- 
perors. 

"I  do  not  mean  to  forego  any  of  those  rights.  It 
was  in  the  exercise  of  them,  that  one  of  my  purveyors, 
the  faithful  Egen,  saw  you  in  the  forest  of  Aschaffen- 
burg,  and  brought  to  me  such  an  account  of  your  mar- 
vellous beauty,  and  I  sent  him,  and  with  him,  the  Count 
Werenher,  and  twenty  of  my  faithful  soldiers  of  "Worms, 
with  command  ta  arrest  and  bring  you  here,  provided 
that  "VVerenher  deemed  you  to  be  as  beautiful  as  Egen 
had  described  you.  Upon  the  last  day  that  you  sat 
upon  the  banks  of  the  AschafF,  Werenher  was  concealed 
in  the  tree  beneath  which  you  reposed,  and  heard  your 
conversation  with  Agatha,  as  well  as  with  the  boy  Mag- 
nus. You  see,  Beatrice,  I  know  more  than  you,  in  your 
candor,  have  thought  it  wise  or  fitting  to  tell  me. 

"  And  now,  Beatrice,  I  offer  you  the  warm  heart,  and 
the  ardent  affections,  of  a  youthful  king,  if  you  will  but 
smile  upon  me.  Bid  me  but  hope  that  I  may  be  loved 
by  you,  and  I  shall  be  content  to  wait  until  your  affec- 
tions for  me  be  awakened  by  the  hourly  proofs  of  my 
admiration  and  of  my  devotion  to  you," 

"  And  this  is  your  Majesty's  answer  to  the  appeal  I 
have  made  to  you,"  said  Beatrice,  with  a  sickening  feel- 
ing of  despair  for  herself,  and  of  loathing  for  the  king, 
as  she  listened  to  the  shameless. avowal  of  his  profligacy. 

"  I  cannot  look  on  such  transcendent  charms,  and  re- 
turn any  other  reply,"  observed  Henry.     "  It  would  be 
my  answer  to  you,  if  you  were  the  daughter  of  the 
11* 


126  THE  POPE  AND   THE  EMPEROR. 

Duke  of  Bavaria  ;  it  must  be  my  answer  to  you,  as  you 
are  but  the  chikl  of  some  obscure  man  —  it  would  be 
my  answer  to  him,  though  he  offered  for  your  release,  a 
mine  of  rubies." 

"  Then  God  have  mercy  on  me  !  "  said  Beatrice,  rush- 
ing to  the  window,  and  raising  her  right  hand  as  high 
as  she  could  in  the  air. 

"  What  mean  you,  Beatrice  ?  "  said  Henry,  mistaking 
the  motive  for  what  she  had  done.  "  I  have  dealt  open- 
ly —  candidly  —  with  you,  remember  that ;  and  also 
remember  that  here  I  am  omnipotent  —  that  here  you 
can  find  no  protector  but  myself." 

As  he  spoke  these  words,  he  attempted  to  clasp  the 
hand  of  Beatrice. 

Beatrice  shrank,  with  a  shiver  of  horror,  from  his 
grasp  ;  and,  falling  upon  her  knees  as  he  attempted  to 
approach  her,  she  drew  forth,  from  the  folds  of  her 
dress,  the  little  black,  rough  cross  of  Gretchen,  and  held 
it  up  before  his  eyes,  saying  :  — 

"  O,  yes  !  there  is  here  —  even  in  your  strong  castle 
—  a  protector  more  powerful  than  you  :  it  is  He,  of 
whose  sufferings  on  this  earth  this  is  the  emblem." 

As  she  spoke  these  words,  she  turned  slowly  round 
on  her  knees,  so  as  to  look,  with  her  bright  dark  eyes, 
up  into  the  cloudless  blue  sky  ;  and,  seemingly  absorbed 
in  her  devotion,  she  poured  forth  this  prayer  in  the  ears 
of  the  profligate  king  : 

"  My  God  —  my  God  !  have  compassion  on  my  weak- 
ness, and  take  pity  on  me  in  my  desolation  ;  for  I  am 
forsaken  by  man,  and  am  but  a  frail  and  helpless  woman, 
and  I  have  no  hope  but  in  thy  strength  —  the  strength 
of  thy  mercy,  and  the  might  of  thy  charity.  And  thou, 
O,  Holy  Virgin,   mother   of  God,  intercede   for   me. 


THE   CAPTIVE  AND  THE  JATLEIl.  127 

Thou,  wlio  art  most  pure,  save  from  contamination  a 
sinner  who  invokes  thee  —  a  maiden  who  has  ever  prayed 
that  thou  mightest  intercede  for  her  to  thy  Beloved  Son. 
O,  beg  that  He  may  now  save  me  in  this  fearful  strait 
—  this  impending  danger.  O,  let  thy  tender  arms  em- 
brace me,  that  sin  may  not  approach  me,  and  that  im- 
purity may  shrink  now,  as  it  has  ever  done,  from  thy 
presence." 

The  strength  of  faith  was  stronger  than  the  power  of 
the  passions  !  The  prayer  of  purity  found  an  echo  even 
in  the  rank  heart  of  the  cynical  voluptuary !  It  did  so, 
and  yet  no  miracle  was  performed  when  the  selfish  and 
the  unrelenting  Henry,  who  never  yet  had  practised  a 
restraint  upon  his  worst  desires,  shrank  back  abashed  in 
the  presence,  and  appalled  by  the  accents,  of  that  poor, 
young,  helpless  girl,  in  the  lonely  chamber  of  one  of 
the  strongest  towers  in  his  kingly  fortress  ! 

A  prayer  that,  perchance,  might  now  be  sneered  at, 
and  words  that,  in  these  days  of  indifferentism  and  infi- 
delity, might  be  scoffed,  had  a  poiver  at  one  period  in 
this  world's  history  —  and,  especially,  at  the  very  epoch 
of  which  we  treat,  when  men  did  the  work  of  demons, 
and  yet  had  the  faith  of  demons  :  for  they  practised 
whatever  hell  suggested  to  their  hearts  ;  and,  like  the 
imps  of  hell,  they  "  trembled  "  when  that  name  was 
pronounced  —  in  which,  as  nominal  Christians,  they 
placed  all  their  hopes  of  future  salvation. 

Henry  IV.  of  Germany  Avas  not  an  exception  to  the 
princes,  or  the  great  men  of  his  time.  Although  as 
bad,  as  vile,  and  as  treacherous  a  man  as  ever  existed, 
he  Mas  not  an  unbeliever.  He  believed  in  God,  although 
lie  violated  the  laws  of  God  —  he  believed  in  all  the 
church  taught,  although  he  trampled  upon  its  command- 


128         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

nients,  trafficked  in  its  dignities,  and  would  make  it  the 
footstool  of  his  selfish  and  griping  ambition.  He  was 
worse  than  most  men  of  his  age  ;  but  was  like  them  in 
this  particular  —  he  was  a  great  sinner,  and  yet  was  not 
infidel. 

Henry's  generosity,  manliness,  and  honor  had  been 
appealed  to  by  Beatrice  in  vain ;  and  now  he  heard  her 
appealing  to  heaven  against  him,  and  his  craven-heart 
trembled,  lest  one,  whom  he  could  not  but  regard  as  an 
angel,  should  bring  down  upon  him  the  instant  ven- 
geance of  an  offended  God.  That  which  he  fancied  he 
never  should  behold  —  unshiinking  piety,  and  unfalter- 
ing .purity  —  was  there  before  him,  kneeling,  and  pray- 
ing to  God,  to  be  preserved  from  him  as  from  a  fiend 
wearing  the  form  of  a  man  ! 

As  this  thought  crossed  his  mind,  he  shuddered  —  it 
was  a  passing,  momentary  sting  of  conscience  —  at  the 
reflection  of  what  he  really  was :  and  whilst  he  was 
under  its  influence,  he  interrupted  Beatrice,  who  was 
engaged  in  prayer,  by  saying  to  her : 

"  Lady  Beatrice,  your  prayer  is  heard.  I  shall  not 
molest  you.  I  shall  not  harm  you.  I  shall  not  approach 
you,  nearer  than  I  am  this  moment,  until  I  have  first 
obtained  your  permission  to  do  so. 

"  Your  prayer  has  convinced  me  that  there  is  no  dig- 
nity on  this  earth  that  you  could  not  illustrate  by,  your 
virtues,  and  honor  by  your  piety.  Beatrice,  I  care  not 
who  may  be  your  father,  nor  how  humble  may  be  his 
rank  in  life  :  for,  by  yourself,  alone,  and  by  these  mar- 
vellous gifts  of  soul  and  body,  with  which  heaven  has 
endoAved  you,  I  deem  you,  of  all  women,  the  only  one 
I  ever  saw  who  was  worthy  to  be  queen  now,  and  em- 
press hereafter,  of  Germany. 


THE  CAPTIVE  AND  THE  JAILER.  12SF' 

"Nay,  start  not,  Beatrice,  as  if  you  thought  I  was 
speaking  to  you  but  mere  words  of  flattery,  or  making 
professions  to  you  that  I  did  not  fully  intend  to  carry 
into  effect.  When  I  say  to  you,  that  I  think  you  worthy 
of  wearing  a  crown  in  Germany,  I  mean  that  you  shall 
do  so  —  as  the  wife  —  the  queen  of  Henry  —  every 
knee  shall  bend  before  you,  and  the  proudest  dames 
shall  feel  that  they  are  honored  if  you  address  but  a 
single  word  to  them. 

"  What  I  now  say  to  you,  Beatrice,  shall,  before  a 
month  has  passed  away,  be  fulfilled.  Within  less  than 
three  weeks  a  synod  shall  be  held  in  Frankfort,  at  which 
the  prelates  of  Germany  will  pronounce  that  my  mar- 
riage with  Bertha  has,  from  the  first,  been  invalid.  This 
divorce  I  sought  for  before  I  saw  you,  both  for  the  sake 
of  Bertha  and  myself;  and  the  moment  that  the  church 
pronounces  me  to  be  free  —  free  as  if  the  hateful  bond 
that  now  ties  me  to  Bertha  had  never  been  contracted ; 
then,  that  moment,  Beatrice,  your  king  shall  claim  you 
in  the  face  of  the  world  as  his  bride.  Meanwhile,  you 
shall  be  removed  from  the  palace  in  which  I  am,  to  the 
strongest  fortress  I  possess  in  Saxony  —  to  the  fortress 
of " 

"  My  liege  —  my  liege  —  your  presence  is  required, 
on  the  instant,  in  your  council  chamber,"  said  Liemau, 
here  rushing,  pale  and  almost  breathless,  into  the  room. 
"  From  all  parts  of  the  fortress  the  sentinels  send  the 
same  reports,  that  large  bodies  of  the  Saxon  serfs  were 
approaching  the  walls,  as  if  an  attack  upon  it  were  con- 
templated, and  messengers  from  the  town  state,  that 
there  is  a  movement  amongst  the  slaves,  as  if  they  were 
about  to  commit  some  outrage." 

"  I  trust  that  the  intelligence  may  prove  true,"  ex- 


130  THE   POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

claimed  Henry.  "  I  long  to  exterminate  the  vile  race 
of  SaxonSj  and  care  not  where  I  may  begin  —  better 
here,  perhaps,  than  elsewhere.  Come,  Lieman,  my  hel- 
met, shield,  and  haubergeon  instantly.  Beatrice,  fare- 
well.    We  meet  in  Saxony." 


CHAPTER    IX. 

THE  EMPRESS  AGNES  AND  QUEEN  BERTHA. 

Two  females  had  entered  the  apartment  of  Beatrice, 
noiselessly,  and  unperceived  by  her,  and  were  evidently 
in  the  very  highest  rank  of  life,  even  though  the  dark 
dress  of  the  elder,  in  its  sombre  hue,  and  plainness  of 
texture,  resembled  the  garb  of  a  nun,  and  the  lighter 
fashioned  robes  of  her  youthful  companion  were  not,  in 
any  way,  adorned  by  embroidery.  Both  were,  however, 
it  could  be  perceived,  of  exalted  station,  and  possessed, 
at  least,  of  great  wealth  ;  for,  on  the  breast  of  the  elder 
there  hung,  attached  by  what  was  an  almost  impercep- 
tible thread  of  gold,  a  cross,  composed  of  sparkling  bril- 
liants, and  around  the  dark  tresses  of  the  younger,  there 
ran,  in  the  fiishion  of  an  imperial  circlet,  a  band,  com- 
posed of  diamonds. 

The  elder  female  was  the  Empress  Agnes,  the  mother 
of  King  Henry. 

Her  companion  was  young  —  very  young  —  it  would 
be  difficult  to  decide,  upon  first  looking  at  her,  whether 
she  was  sixteen  or  twenty  years  of  age  ;  for  her  figure 
was  so  slight,  and  at  the  same  time  so  much  beneath  the 


THE  EMPRESS   AGNES  AND   QUEEN  BERTHA.         131 

middle-size  of  women,  that  one  would  long  hesitate  to 
say  that  she  could,  by  possibility,  be  older  than  sixteen, 
if  there  were  not  in  the  chastened  eye,  the  grave  look, 
and  the  pensive  gesture  of  her  movements,  somewhat  to 
demonstrate  that  more  than  the  sorrows  that  vex  the 
heart  of  a  girl  of  sixteen  had  found  a  resting-place  in 
her  bosom.  She  was  of  Italy  ;  and  there  was  no  mis- 
taking the  place  of  her  birth,  in  her  rich  brown  skin, 
her  pearly  teeth,  her  pouting  mouth,  her  Roman  nose, 
her  jet-black  eyes,  and  her  hair,  that,  in  the  intensity  of 
its  blackness,  gave  forth  a  bluish  hue.  This  beautiful 
and  this  delicate  young  creature,  on  whose  arm  the  em- 
press leaned,  now  looked  at  Beatrice,  with  an  interest  — 
an  excess  of  interest,  which  none  but  a  wife  can  feel 
when  gazing  on  a  female  who  has  unwillingly  won,  or 
unconsciously  attracted,  the  admiration  of  a  husband. 
It  was  Queen  Bertha,  the  wife  of  Henry,  who  knew  that 
the  lovely  Beatrice  was  an  unwilling  captive  in  the 
power  of  her  husband.  Her  features  expressed  what 
was  passing  in  her  heart  —  profound  pity,  and  irrepress- 
ible admiration  —  the  first  for  the  situation  of  Beatrice, 
the  other  for  her  beauty. 

Beatrice  was  conscious  that  she  stood  in  the  presence 
of  one,  at  least,  her  superior  in  rank,  and  she  suspected, 
of  two. 

"  I  know  not,  lady,"  she  said,  "  who  you  are,  but  I 
am  sure  I  do  not  err,  when,  in  presence  of  this  august 
female,  who  seems  to  be  a  mother,  I  beg  you  to  exercise 
the  power  you  are  plainly  possessed  of  here,  by  com- 
manding that  a  dai;ghter  may  be  instantly  restored  to 
the  arms  of  an  anguished  parent." 

"  Alas,  that  I  could  but  exercise  that  power  you  sup- 
pose me  to  have,"  answered  Bertha.     "  But  know,  that 


132  THE  POPE   AND   THE  EMPEROE. 

by  your  presence  here,  an  outrage  is  done  to  you,  and 
an  injury  inflicted  on  me  ;  for  I  am  the  unloved  wife 
of  King  Henry." 

"  And  I,  my  dear  child  —  the  unhappy  mother  of  the 
same  Henry  —  bless  thee,  the  last  of  his  victims  —  and 
pray  that  thou  mayest  long  live  to  offer  thy  prayers  to 
heaven  to  pardon  him  for  this  and  his  other  manifold 
sins."  And  as  the  empress  spoke  these  words,  she  laid 
her  hand  upon  the  head  of  Beatrice,  as  if  pronouncing  a 
benediction  over  her.  She  then  stretched  forth  her 
hand  to  Beatrice,  and  said  —  "  Whatever  be  thy  con- 
dition in  life,  an  injury  to  both,  perpetrated  by  the  same 
hand,  has  placed  us  on  an  equality  with  each  other." 

Beatrice  kissed  the  hand  of  the  empress,  and  then 
said,  — 

"  By  what  fortunate  chance  Is  it,  that  one  so  humble 
as  myself,  should  be  honored  by  a  visit  from  your  majes- 
ties, who  now  appear  before  me,  as  my  guardian-angels  i  " 

"  If  our  presence  here  can  confer  upon  thee  aught  of 
good,  thou  art  indebted  for  it  to  the  information  con- 
veyed to  us  by  the  Countess  Dedi,  who  has  also  ap- 
prised us  that  thou  ait  the  betrothed  of  Duke  Magnus, 
and  that  thou  hast  been  conveyed  hither  in  thine  own 
despite.  Poor  girl !  from  my  soul  I  pity  thee  ;  and  rest 
assured  that  Bertha  and  I  will  aid  thee,  if  it  be  possible 
for  us  to  do  so." 

"  But,  mother,  you  have  not  asked  her  if  she  has  seen 
the  king,"  said  Bertha,  with  deep  emotion. 

"  I  have,"  answered  Beatrice,  "  and  it  much  interest?! 
your  Majesty  to  know  what  he  said  to  me.  I  will  not 
offend  your  cars  by  some  words  he  said ;  but  this  you 
should  know  ;  that  he  spoke  to  me  of  being  speedily 
divorced  from  your  majesty." 


THE  EMPKESS  AGNES  AND  QUEEN  BERTHA.    133 

"  Divorced  !  "  exclaimed  Bertha,  "  divorced !  are  you 
Bure  he  said  divorced?" 

"  Most  certain,  madam,  and  even  by  the  "words  he 
used  he  led  me  to  suppose  that  a  divorce  was  as  neces- 
sary for  your  happiness,  as  his  own,"  answered  Beatrice. 

Bertha  stood  motionless  as  these  words  reached  her 
ear.  They  seemed  to  penetrate  to  her  brain,  and  to 
have  transfixed  her  for  some  minutes  to  the  spot.  She 
coukl  not  speak  —  she  looked  at  Beatrice,  as  the  dying 
and  despairing  sinner  looks  upon  the  physician  who  tells 
him  that  his  moments  in  this  world  are  few  in  number. 
Then  turning  to  her  companion,  she  flung  her  arms 
wildly  around  the  neck  of  the  empress,  and  clasping  "her 
convulsively  to  her  bosom,  she  sobbed  out,  as  if  each 
word  would  burst  her  heart : 

"  Divorced !  O,  mother,  mother  !  do  you  not  pity 
me  ? " 

The  empress  had  been  for  years  accustomed  to  grief. 
It  had  not  hardened  her  heart,  nor  rendered,  in  the 
slightest  degree,  her  feelings  callous ;  but  it  had  so 
strengthened  her  will,  that  she  could  command  her  emo- 
tions. She  was,  in  sorrow,  what  the  veteran  is  in  the 
field  of  battle  ;  and  the  wound,  that  might  be  mortal, 
was,  when  inflicted,  received  and  regarded  as  of  no  more 
consequence  than  one  that  could  impose  but  a  passing 
pain,  or  bring  with  it  no  more  than  a  temporary  incon- 
venience. 

"  Bertha,  my  child,  God  was  pleased  to  place  a  heavy 
burden  upon  you,  when  He  permitted  your  marriage 
with  my  son,"  was  the  observation  of  Agnes. 

"  But  then,  mother,  to  be  divorced  !  —  divorced  from 
him!  —  divorced  from  Henry!  —  who  before  now  ever 
heard  of  two  young  persons,  who  loved  each  other  once 
12 


134         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

SO  truly  —  for  I  am  sure,  mother,  he  did  love  me  once 
—  who,  I  ask,  ever  heard  of  a  Christian  wife  and  hus- 
band being  divorced  from  each  other  ? "  asked  Bertha, 
in  her  distraction  and  despair. 

"  True  —  true,  my  child,"  replied  Agnes,  "  it  is 
monstrous,  and  would  be  incredible,  but  that  I  may  also 
ask  another  question  —  who  before  now  ever  heard  of 
so  reckless  a  man  as  Henry  ?  " 

"  I  have  never  seen  nor  spoken  with  his  Majesty  until 
this  day,"  observed  Beatrice,  "  and  therefore  cannot  tell 
when  he  speaks  in  seriousness  or  in  jest,  or  whether  it 
was  his  real  intention  to  wrong  one  of  your  Majesty's 
exalted  rank,  or  to  degrade  a  helpless  maiden  like  my- 
self; but  this  I  may  add,  as  proving  his  fixed  resolution 
to  do  the  one  and  the  other,  that  he  voluntarily  declared 
that  he  would  never  again  appear  before  me  until  he 
had  been  divorced  from  you  —  a  divorce,  which,  he  said, 
would  be  pronounced  within  the  course  of  a  few  weeks  ; 
and,  pending  the  time,.for  its  being  pronounced,  he  said 
that  he  would  have  me  removed  to  a  fortress  in  Saxony." 

Whilst  Beatrice  spoke,  there  was  such  truth,  such 
sincerity  in  her  words,  and  such  conviction  brought 
home  to  the  heart,  by  the  earnestness  and  solemnity  of  her 
manner,  that  Bertha  clung  closer  to  Agnes,  and  seemed 
to  feel,  whilst  she  clasped  the  empress  within  her  arms, 
as  if  the  voice  of  Henry  was  thundering  in  her  ear,  an- 
nouncing his  approaching  separation  from  her.  Her 
attitude  portrayed  the  fear  and  dismay  that  shook  her 
whole  being, 

"  O !  "  cried  Bertha,  "  that  the  holy  father  did  but 
know  all." 

"Bertha  —  my  child — he  shall  know  all.  Fortu- 
nately the  Pope  is  much  nearer  to  the  borders  of  the 


THE   EMPRESS  AGNES   AND   QUEEN  BERTHA.  135 

German  dominions  than  Henry  wots  of.  This  very 
night  a  trusty  messenger,  bearing  my  declarations  and 
yours,  and  showing  that  you  are,  whatever  may  be  the 
affirmations  to  the  contrary,  the  true  and  lawful  wife  of 
Henry,  shall  be  forwarded  to  his  holiness,  and  thus  your 
husband  be  saved  from  a  worse  crime,  if  that  be  possi- 
ble, than  any  of  Avhich  he  has  yet  been  guilty." 

"  My  innocent,  my  lovely,  and  my  unwilling  rival," 
said  Bertha,  "  I  cannot  look  upon  you,  without  feeling 
that  you  are  my  superior  in  all  those  attractions  likely 
to  win  the  admiration,  and  to  secure  the  affections  of  a 
man,  who  has,  from  boyhood,  rendered  himself  the  slave 
of  female  beauty.  If  I  were  not  married  to  Henry — • 
if  I  were  like  you,  a  maiden,  and  he  stood  this  moment 
before  us,  bound  by  no  vow,  pronounced  in  presence  of 
God's  holy  altar,  I  could  not  blame  —  nay,  I  must  ap- 
prove his  judgment,  if,  looking  upon  us  both,  he  pre- 
ferred you,  and  rejected  me.  It  is  not  so.  God  has 
ordained  it  otherAvise.  He  is  my  husband  :  I  am  his  wife, 
until  death  parts  us.  He  unfortunately  has,  in  abandon- 
ing me,  violated  the  laws  of  God  ;  and  your  innocence, 
your  beauty,  and  your  virtues,  have  been  as  sins  in  his 
path,  and  urged  him  omvard  to  be  guilty  of  a  greater 
crime  against  me,  against  you,  and  against  heaven.  In 
all  this  you  are,  like  myself,  an  unoffending  and  a  help- 
less victim.  He  would  unrighteously  take  from  me  this 
royal  circlet,  the  emblem  of  my  dignity,  and  bestow  it 
upon  you.  If  you  accepted  it  from  his  hands,  you  would 
participate  in  his  sin ;  but  receiving  it  from  mine,  it 
shall  ever  remain  a  testimony  of  the  love,  and  a  proof 
of  the  affection  entertained  for  you,  by  Bertha  —  your 
queen  and  your  friend." 

As  Bertha  spoke,  she  unloosed  the  sparkling  diadem 
from  her  dark  hair,  and  tendered  it  to  Beatrice. 


136  THE   POPE  AND   THE  EMPEROR. 

Beatrice,  instead  of  stretching  forth  her  hand  to 
receive  the  costly  gift  —  precious  as  the  ransom  of  a 
duke,  bent  her  knee  to  Bertha,  as  a  subject  to  a  sov- 
ereign, and  said,  in  words  that  were  as  sweet  as  music 
to  the  ear  of  the  desolate  wife : 

''  I  pray  your  Majesty  to  pardon  a  poor  ignorant  girl, 
who  knows  not  the  manners  of  the  great  ones  of  this 
earth,  if  I  presume  to  decline  receiving  that  gorgeous 
ornament.  If  I  were  to  accept  it,  I  would  seem  to  you 
—  at  least,  I  think  so  —  as  if  I  felt  that  I  had  done  that 
which  was  worthy  of  commendation,  because  I  had  pre- 
ferred death  to  dishonor. 

"  Pardon  me,  then,  lady,  when  I  say,  I  cannot,  must 
not,  will  not  accept  the  diadem  that  you  tender  to  me." 

The  empress  stooped  down  to  Beatrice,  as  she  knelt, 
and  kissing  her  on  the  forehead   exclaimed : 

"  God  bless  thee,  maiden !  for  amongst  thy  other 
graces,  thou  art,  I  perceive,  richly  endowed  with  that 
most  precious  of  virtues — perfect  humility. 

"  And  now,  my  dearest  children,"  continued  the  em- 
press, clasping,  at  the  same  time,  a  hand  of  Bertha  and 
of  Beatrice,  "  let  us  part,  I  trust  to  meet  again  in  this 
world.  As  to  Beatrice  —  although  this  palace  is  a  den 
of  iniquity  —  and  not  only  men,  but  even  women,  are 
to  be  found  in  it,  ready  to  do  the  work  of  demons,  still 
there  are  even  here  a  few  honest,  good,  faithful,  and 
pious  persons.  These  shall  have  strict  orders  to  watch 
over  thee,  whilst  thou  remain,  and  to  follow  thy  foot- 
steps wheresoever  thou  mayest  be  conveyed.  Conceal 
this  cross  of  brilliants,  and  whenever  thy  hand  touches 
it,  think  of  me  —  of  the  empress,  as  a  friend ;  and  pray 
for  her  —  as  a  sinner  ! 

"  Come,  Bertha." 


THE   CAMP-POLLOWEE.  137 

Bertha  spoke  not  a  word ;  but  hastily  quitting  the 
side  of  the  empress,  as  both  were  on  the  point  of  retiring 
from  the  apartment,  she  hurried  back  to  Beatrice,  and  kiss- 
ing her,  long  and  ardently,  she  merely  murmured,  or  rather 
whispered,  as  if  it  were  an  ejaculation,  into  her  ear  : 

"  Pray  for  me,  also,  dearest  Beatrice,  and  — for 
yourself" 


CHAPTER    X. 

THE    CA3IP-F0LL0WER. 

Beatrice  had  been  travelling  for  two  days,  under  the 
escort  of  the  Count  Diedrich,  as  she  understood,  for  he 
had  never  once  spoken  to  her ;  but  he  had  allowed  her 
all  the  consolation,  that,  under  such  circumstances,  it  was 
in  her  power  to  possess,  the  undisturbed  companionship 
of  Gretchen.  The  latter  joined  Beatrice  at  the  fortress 
gate,  as  she  was  quitting  Frankfort,  and,  upon  showing 
to  Diedrich  an  order  from  the  empress,  for  her  to  accom- 
pany her  charge  as  a  female  attendant,  he  made  no 
objection  to  such  an  arrangement,  but  merely  said  to 
her  — 

"Go  —  but  don't  talk." 

Gretchen  assured  her  new  mistress  that  there  was  not 
a  step  of  the  road  they  were  travelhng  that  was  not 
tracked  by  her  friends  —  by  Magnus,  or  some  of  his 
knights,  or  else  by  some  of  the  adherents  of  the  empress. 
She  even  assured  her  that  she  had  herself  seen,  if  it  were 
not  fivncy,  a  white  and  blue  banner  upon  a  distant  hill ; 
but  as  Beatrice  was  not  able  to  discern  the  same  object 
12* 


138         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROE. 

at  SO  great  a  distance,  Gretcheu  admitted  that  she  might 
be  mistaken;  but  still  persisted  in  thinking  that  she 
was  not. 

It  was  the  noon  of  the  third  day  from  the  time  they 
had  left  Frankfort,  when  Beatrice  and  Gretchen  were 
thus  conversing.  Both  sat  in  a  greenswarded  ravine,  so 
nari'ow  in  breadth,  that  the  deep  foliage  from  the  trees 
on  both  sides  prevented  the  sun's  rays  from  reaching 
them,  whilst  high  over  their  heads  there  toppled  rocks 
upon  rocks,  that  rose  up  in  one  place  as  steep  and  as 
precipitous  as  a  wall,  and  beneath  which  lay  a  grassy, 
rounded  m.ound  of  earth,  covered  here  and  there  by 
bushes,  the  deep  inclination  of  which  terminated  at  the 
precise  spot  where  Beatrice  and  Gretchen  now  sat. 

In  the  mind  of  Beatrice  there  seemed,  at  this  time, 
to  be  but  thoughts  for  three  persons  ;  for  her  mother,  for 
Magnus,  and  her  father.  It  can  therefore  excite  no 
surprise  that  her  conversation  with  Gretchen  should  be, 
not  commenced,  but  in  this  manner,  resumed : 

"  And  so,  Gretchen,  you  think  that  the  empress  will 
be  so  kind  as  to  send  intelligence  to  my  poor  mother, 
as  to  the  sad  fate  that  has  befallen  me,  and  of  her  majes- 
ty watching  over  me " 

Gretchen  did  not  answer  this  question.  She  looked, 
as  Beatrice  saw,  towards  her,  and  yet  not  at  her,  but  at 
something  beyond  her ;  and  as  she  did  so  her  eye  dilat- 
ed with  terror,  and  her  right  hand  slowly  slid  inside 
the  folds  of  her  garments,  and  remained  firmly  fixed 
there,  as  if  she  were  clutching  some  weapon. 

Beatrice  turned  her  face  in  the  direction  in  which  she 
saw  that  Gretchen  was  gazing.  At  first  nothing  pre- 
sented itself  to  the  view  calculated  to  excite  alarm  ;  but 
atjpiast  she  saw  two  large,  dazzhng,  diamond-sparkling 


THE    CAMIVFOLLOWER.  139 

eyes,  fixed  upon  herself,  and  watching  her  so  closely 
and  fixedly,  that  the  action  of  Gretchen  had  not  been 
remarked : 

"Ah !  "  shrieked  Beatrice,  starting  to  her  feet,  "  there 
is  a  wolf  concealed  in  the  bushes  ! " 

At  the  same  instant  a  person  in  the  garb  of  a  soldier, 
darted  up  from  the  earth,  and  was  at  the  moment  con- 
fronted by  Gretchen,  who  noAv  showed  that  her  ri^ht 
hand  grasped  a  long  dagger.  Another  moment  passed, 
and  the  stranger  had  wrested  the  dagger  from  the  hand 
of  Gretchen,  and  then  laughing  deridingly  at  her,  pre- 
sented it  back  to  her,  saying : 

"  No  wolf,  my  pretty  dame,  but  a  woman,  like  your- 
self. Here,  girl,  take  back  your  dagger ;  learn  to  use 
it  before  you  present  its  point  at  an  old  soldier  like 
me." 

"  In  heaven's  name  !  who  or  what  are  you  ?  "  asked 
Beatrice  of  the  strange  personage  who  stood  before  her 
—  a  woman  apparently  about  thirty  years  of  age,  on 
whose  head  was  a  soldier's  helmet,  from  which  fell  long, 
rough,  curling  black  hair,  that  served  to  cover  a  neck, 
that  was  like  the  skin  of  her  face,  not  merely  brown,  but 
almost  blackened  from  coiistant  exposure  to  the  sun, 
whilst  a  thick,  downy  moustache  of  black  hair  on  the 
upper  lip,  gave  her  the  appearance  of  a  man.  And  for 
such,  she  might,  by  her  brawny  arms  and  large  hands, 
be  readily  mistaken,  if  the  ample  folds  of  a  woman's 
short-dress  did  not  show  that  she  belonged  to  the  female 
sex.  By  this  extraordinary  personage  Beatrice's  ques- 
tion was  thus  answered  : 

"  I  am,  I  have  already  told  you,  a  woman.  As  to 
what  I  am,  it  may  suffice  to  tell  you,  that  I  am  the  flworite 
camp-follower  of  Count  Diedrich."  f 


140  THE   POPE   ANI>  THE   E5IPER0R. 

"  Then,  wliy  lie  concealed  there  ?  "  asked  Gretchen. 

'*  Another  would  tell  you  a  lie.  I  will  tell  you  the 
truth.  I  was  lying  there  to  listen  to  your  conversation. 
I  was  doing  duty  as  a  spy.  Diedrich  reckons  me  one  of 
the  best  spies  in  the  king's  army.  Here,  Gretchen,  hand 
me  that  wine.     Xeither  of  you  like  wine.     I  do." 

So  speaking,  the  sturdy  camp-follower  seized  a  large 
goblet  filled  with  wdne,  and  swallowed  it  off  at  a  single 
draught. 

"  But  why  become  a  spy  upon  us  ?  "  inquired  Gretchen. 

"  Diedrich,"  said  the  camp-follower,  "  wished  to  know 
if  you  were  contemplating  any  plan  of  escape  from  him. 
He  sent  me  to  ascertain  the  fact.  I  have  been  listening 
to  you  at  every  place  where  you  stopped  for  refreshment 
and  repose  ;  and,  excuse  my  bluntness,  but  I  must  re- 
port to  Diedrich,  that  never  in  my  life  did  I  listen  to 
long  conversations  so  spiritless  and  stupid.  It  has  all 
been  about  a  fusty  empress,  a  noodle  queen,  a  nobody 
of  a  mother,  and  the  truth  is,  you  would  both  have  set 
me  to  sleep  over  and  over  again,  if  it  had  not  been  for 
your  allusions  to  a  white  and  blue  flag,  and  one  Magnus. 
I  want  to  find  out  who  that  fellow  is.  Let  Diedrich  get 
but  within  a  league  of  him,  and  you  shall  see  his  white- 
blue  flag  turned  into  a  red  one,  with  the  best  blood  that 
warms  his  heart.  More  wine,  Gretchen,  if  you  please 
—  it  is  the  pure  old  Rhenish  wine,  that  Diedrich  loves 
so  much." 

Beatrice's  heart  sickened,  when  she  heard  the  proba- 
ble murder  of  Magnus  so  lightly  and  so  unfeelingly 
referred  to,  by  the  terrible  woman  who  stood  before  her. 

"Hei'e,"  said  she,  "here,  my  good  woman,  is  a  piece 
of  gold  for  you.  It  is  the  only  one  I  possess  :  take  it, 
and  do  not  mention  the  name  of  Magnus  to  Count 
Diedrich." 


THE   CAMP-FOLLOWER.  141 

The  camp-follower  held  out  her  brawny,  broad,  black 
hand  for  the  piece  of  gold,  and  as  Beatrice's  hand  touched 
hers,  she  clapped  down  her  strong  thumb  upon  it,  so 
as  to  hold  the  hand  of  Beatrice  attached  to  her  own, 
and  fixed  as  firmly  to  hers  as  if  it  were  held  within  an 
iron  clasp. 

"■  Ho  !  ho  !  "  she  exclaimed,  with  a  laugh  half  expres- 
sive of  derision,  and  half  of  wonder,  as  she  gazed  upon 
the  snow-white,  rosy-tipped,  thin  fingers  and  fairy-like 
hand  of  Beatrice,  that  seemed  to  be  still  smaller  in  con- 
trast with  the  swarthy  palm  to  which  it  was  fastened. 
"  Ho !  ho !  ho!  "  she  continued,  "  so  this  is  the  sort  of  hand 
that  King  Henry  admires  —  a  little  waxy  thing,  that  is 
neither  good  for  washing,  scouring,  nor  fighting  —  why, 
I  would  make  a  hand  like  this  any  day,  out  of  a  little 
curdled  milk,  and  a  rose  leaf  Augh !  a  child  of  five 
years  of  age  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  it.  Put  your  fin- 
gers in  gloves,  child,  and  when  they  are  the  size  of  a 
woman's,  say  you  are  a  woman,  but  never  until  then. 
And  now,  as  to  the  piece  of  gold  you  have  given  me, 
I  am  much  obliged  to  you ;  but  I  cannot  earn  it  in  the 
way  you  wish.  I  am  a  soldier,  doing  duty  as  a  spy,  and 
I  must  tell  my  commander  that  you  gave  me  a  piece  of 
gold,  not  to  mention  to  him  the  name  of  Magnus.  Hon- 
or above  all  things,  child ;  and  before  all  things  :  a 
soldier  without  honor  is  like  a  flask  without  wine  — 
worth  nothing,  and  deserves  only  to  be  kicked  out  of 
every  one's  way." 

"  For  mercy's  sake ! "  said  Beatrice,  bursting  into  tears. 

"  Mercy !  psha !  who  ever  heard  of  mercy  being  shown 
to  a  spy  ?  "  observed  the  camp-follower.  *'  Now,  mark 
me,  if  that  Magnus,  of  whom  you  are  always  speaking, 
intends  to  attack  Diedrich  as  a  soldier,  well  and  good ; 


142  THE  POPE  AND   THE  EMPEEOE. 

he  will  be  treated  as  a  soldier,  if  lie  should  be  defeated 
and  taken  prisoner.  There  will  be  the  general's  best 
wine  for  him  at  his  meals,  and  his  misfortunes  will  be 
respected ;  but  if,  on  the  other  hand,  he  be  found  lurk- 
ing about  our  encampment  as  a  spy  —  I  know  Diedrich 
well,  the  higher  his  rank  the  greater  his  tortures  —  his 
will  not  be  the  death  of  a  man,  nor  of  a  soldier  ;  but, 
aut  of  hell  itself,  there  will  be  no  tortures  like  to  those 
that  will  be  inflicted." 

"  O,  my  God !  why  then  mention  his  name  to  that 
frightful  wretch,  Diedrich  ? "  asked  Beatrice,  trembling 
with  terror. 

"  Diedrich  is  no  wretch,  young  pert  miss  ;  but  as 
bi'ave  a  soldier  as  ever  yet  faced  a  foeman,"  answered  his 
favorite.  "  He  cares  little  for  his  own  life,  and  nought 
for  the  life  of  any  one  else.  I  tell  you,  I  must  mention 
to  him  that  you  had  been  speaking  of  a  person  called 
Magnus.  That  is  all  I  have  to  say  of  him ;  but  cheer 
up,  that  means  next  to  nothing,  and  perhaps  Diedrich 
will  give  me  a  grim  look  for  pestering  him  with  such  a 
trifle.  But  come  now,  deal  candidly  with  me,  and  I 
pledge  you  my  honor  as  a  soldier  and  a  woman,  that  if 
I  can  help  you  I  will.  Only  mind  this  —  if  you  are 
aware  that  Magnus  means  to  attack  the  force  under  Die- 
drich's  command,  say  nothing  to  me ;  for  if  you  do,  I 
must  mention  it.  Any  thing  short  of  that  you  may  tell 
me,  and  I  will  not  repeat  it.  Thus  cautioning  you,  I 
ask  you  —  wherefore  is  it  that  you  suppose  that  Magnus 
is  following  the  escort  of  Diedrich  ?  " 

"  I  am  betrothed  to  Magnus  —  I  have  been  torn  away 
from  him,  and  from  my  parents,"  replied  Beatrice ;  "  and 
Magnus  is  now  following  the  soldiers,  for  the  purpose 
of  ascertaininsc  whither  Diedrich  is  conducting  us." 


THE  CAMP-FOLLOWEE.  143 

The  camp-follower  clapped  her  hands  with  glee,  when 
she  heard  this  statement,  made  in  doleful  accents  by 
Beatrice. 

"  What !  another  love  story  —  a  little  fairy  like  you 
is  run  away  with  by  my  great  giant  of  a  Diedrich,  and 
Magnus  is  a  king's  son,  not  hastening  to  fight  with  him, 
but  to  find  the  road  he  is  taking,  and  then,  when  he 
has  discovered  it,  to  go  and  sit  down  at  the  castle  gate, 
and  blubber  like  a  boy,  because  he  cannot  get  in  and 
you  cannot  get  out.  O,  that  is  excellent.  Why,  what 
a  pair  of  young  fools  you  must  both  be !  But  —  no 
matter !  tiny  doll,  I  remember  I  was  a  little  girl  myself 
once,  and  therefore,  I  have  pity  on  you.  I  can  tell  you 
—  and  I  do  tell  you,  because  it  is  not  secret :  every  groom 
in  the  camp  is  aware  of  it  —  the  place  where  we  are 
going  to,  is  the  strongest  fortress  in  Saxony  —  it  is  the 
fortress  of  Erzegebirge.  If  Magnus  were  here  I  would 
tell  it  to  him,  this  instant.  It  might  save  him  from  trouble, 
and  you  from  care.  In  what  direction  do  you  fancy  he 
may  be  discovered  ?  If  it  be  no  great  distance  I  will 
go  and  tell  himself:  I  feel  quite  a  curiosity  to  look  at 
any  one,  in  the  shape  of  a  man,  that  can  be  in  love  with 
such  a  poor  Httle  thing  as  you  are.  On  which  side,  think 
you,  is  Magnus  lurking  ?  "  * 

Beatrice  hesitated  to  answer  this  question ;  she  feared 
for  Magnus,  and  she  did  not  know  but  that  this  strange 
and  ferocious-looking  woman  might  be  seeking  for  his 
life. 

"  Alas,"  said  she,  « if  you  should  tell  Diedrich  where 
he  is !  " 

"Me!"  exclaimed  the  Avoman  —  half-drawing  the 
short  sword  that  hung  by  her  side.  "  AVhy,  girl,  you 
are  the  first  that  ever  thought,  for  one  moment,  that 


144  THE  POPE   AND   THE   EMPEROR. 

Gertraud  would  act  dishonorably  to  friend  or  foe,  man 
or  woman,  much  less  a  child  like  you.  In  the  field  I 
am  a  soldier  —  in  the  camp  I  am  a  woman.  I  know 
what  it  is  to  shed  human  blood ;  and,  when  my  rage  is 
excited  by  the  noise  of  battle,  I  have  not  spared  the  life 
of  man  ;  but  yet  I  never  struck  an  unfair  blow.  If  you 
choose,  I  will  try  and  find  out  Magnus  —  I  shall  go  to 
meet  him  alone.  Do  you  think  so  poorly  of  him  as  to 
suppose  he  can  be  afraid  of  me?  Besides,  remember 
this  —  if  I  see  him,  he  is  safe  —  if  any  other  person  in 
the  pay  of  Diedrich  discover  his  lurking-place,  he  is  not 
merely  sure  to  die,  but  he  will  die  the  death  of  a  spy. 
What  say  you  now,  maiden  ? " 

"  That  I  pray  your  pardon,  Gertraud,  since  that  is  the 
name  you  bear,"  answered  Beatrice.  "  I  not  only  place 
confidence  in  you,  but  I  ask  of  you  to  tell  Magnus, 
from  me,  that  it  is  my  entreaty,  now  knowing  whither 
we  are  going,  lie  will  follow  us  no  farther  —  and  that  he 
will  repair  to  my  father's  castle,  and  there  state  what 
has  befallen  me." 

"  Very  well  —  and  very  sensible,"  said  Gertraud. 
*'  And  now  in  what  direction  may  I  seek  him  ?  " 

"  In  that,"  said  Gretchen,  pointing  back  upon  the 
road  over  which  tH^y  had  travelled.  *'  I  imagine  he  is 
about  five  miles'  distance." 

"  And  what  is  his  appearance  ?  "  said  Gertraud. 

"  He  is  very  tall,  very  fair,  and  very  handsome,"  an- 
swered Beatrice. 

"  Phew  !  so  arc  all  men  who  are  not  very  short,  very 
dark,  and  very  ugly,"  replied  Gertraud.  "  The  descrip- 
tion is  too  general  to  be  accurate  ;  but  never  mind,  it 
will  do  for  one  who  is  used  to  the  devices  of  war." 

So  saying,  she  bounded  in  amongst  the  bushes,  and 


THE   CAMP-FOLLOWER.  145 

then  darted  behind  a  clump  of  trees,  from  whence  she 
again  appeared,  mounted  on  a  strong-limbed  black  horse, 
that  she  rode  as  if  she  were  a  man. 

"  And  now,''  said  she,  as  she  patted  the  neck  of  her 
steed,  and  looking  proudly  down  upon  the  two^young 
girls,  '*  I  am  sure  to  be  back  here  again  before  the  order 
is  given  for  you  to  march  ;  for  a  dark  deed  is  to  be 
done  in  this  very  spot  to-day,  which  I  am  better  pleased 
not  to  witness.  Did  either  of  you  ever  see  a  human 
being  slain  ?  " 

"  Never  —  thank  God  i  never,"  cried  Beatrice  and 
Gretchen,  in  one  voice. 

"  It  is  a  horrid  sight !  "  observed  Gertraud,  "  unless 
it  be  in  fair  and  open  warfare  ;  for  then  it  is  life  against 
life,  and  he  who  slays,  only  does  so  to  save  himself 
from  being  slain  ;  but  a  cold-blooded,  contemplated  mur- 
der, and  that,  too,  the  murder  of  a  bishop " 

**  O  heavens  !  what  say  you,  Gertraud  ?  "  cried  Bea- 
trice, terrified.  "  Assuredly  you  speak  in  jest,  and  only 
make  use  of  these  words  to  terrify  us." 

"  Girl,"  said  Gertraud,  in  a  voice  that  became,  from 
deep  emotion,  guttural  in  its  tones ;  "  one  like  me,  who 
have  seen  many  men  die  in  agony,  cannot  jest  about  mur- 
der—  a  horrid,  base,  cowardly,  unmanly  murder  such  as 
now  is  contemplated  against  a  pious  and  a  holy  bishop. 
Poor  Diedrich  !  he  has  promised  to  do  it,  and  if  hell 
lay  between  him  and  the  performance  of  his  promise, 
he  would  yet  jump  into  it,  although  every  fiery  flame 
of  the  bottomless  pit  were  a  devil  opposed  to  him. 
Jest,  indeed !  why  have  you  been  permitted  to  remain 
here  for  hours,  and  it  may  be  for  days,  yet.  It  is,  be- 
cause Diedrich  is  lying  in  wait  here  for  the  Bishop  of 
Osnabruck  —  for  here  he  must  pass,  with  his  small 
13 


146  THE   POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

escort,  on  his  way  to  liis  diocese  —  and  here,  in  obedi- 
ence to  King  Henry's  conamand,  will  he  be  slain  by  Die- 
drich.  Here  —  I  say  —  is  the  very  spot  on  which  the 
miu'der  will  be  committed.  As  a  priest,  as  a  prelate, 
Diedrjch  cannot  touch  him  with  spear,  sword,  or  dagger, 
but  he  will  slay  him  notwithstanding  ;  from  that  very 
precipice  which  now  hangs  over  your  head  the  bishop 
will  be  thrown,  and  his  body  dashed  from  rock  to  rock ; 
he  never  can  reach  the  earth  a  living  man.  This  is  the 
place  of  his  death  which  Diedrich  has  determined  upon. 
He  told  me  so  himself  You  will  not  be  permitted,  I 
imagine,  to  be  witnesses  to  such  a  horrid  death  —  that 
is,  if  Diedrich  thinks  of  you,  or  of  having  you  removed. 
Poor  Diedrich  !  he  is  so  annoyed  at  the  idea  of  having 
to  murder  the  bishop,  that  he  has  done  nothing  for  the 
last  two  days  but  eat,  drink,  and  sleep.  The  only  words 
I  have  heard  him  utter  for  forty-eight  hours,  are,  *  more 
food  —  more  wine  ! '  Poor  Diedrich  !  if  it  were  two 
men  he  alone  had  to  encounter  in  combat,  he  would  be 
as  merry  as  a  child ;  but  to  waylay  and  murder  a  bish- 
op !  it  is  a  horrid  business,  and  I  only  Avish  it  may 
happen  whilst  I  am  away.  On  my  return,  I  hope  to 
hear  that  the  bishop's  soul  is  in  heaven,  and  his  man- 
gled body  in  the  grave.  Poor  Diedrich !  O,  what  a 
precious  villain  that  King  Henry  must  be  to  make  prel- 
ate butchers  of  his  best  soldiers  and  bravest  generals. 
And  now,  fair  lady,  to  meet  with,  if  I  can,  that  strange 
young  man  —  your  admirer." 

So  saying,  Gertraud  shouted  the  word  "  Away  ! "  to 
her  horse,  and  before  either  Beatrice  or  Gretchen  could 
speak  another  word  to  her,  she  had  vanished  from  their 
sight. 

The  horrible  secret  which  had  thus  been  disclosed  to 


THE    CAMP-FOLLOWER.  147 

them,  rendered  both  these  poor  young  girls  motionless 
for  some  minutes,  and  when  they  recovered  in  some 
degree  from  their  terror,  they  cast  their  arms  around 
each  other,  as  if,  in  thus  clinging  together,  they  could 
mutually  communicate  a  courage  that  neither  possessed. 
They  both  at  the  same  instant  looked  up  to  the  high 
precipice,  and  regarded  it  with  as  much  terror  and  hor- 
ror, as  if  it  had  been  already  made  the  scene  of  that 
sacrilegious  murder  for  which  they  had  been  just  told  it 
was  to  be  used. 

The  perfect  stillness  that  prevailed  on  all  sides  around 
them,  first  brought  consolation  and  hope  to  their  hearts 
—  consolation,  that  the  crime  had  not  yet  been  com- 
mitted—  hope,  that  the  bishop,  with  his  escort,  might 
not  pass  that  way,  and  thus  escape  from  the  toils  that 
his  enemies  had  set  for  him. 

Both  prayed  that  this  might  be  the  case  ;  biit  neither 
had  strength  nor  courage  to  address  her  companion. 
They  were  two  lone,  helpless  females,  in  the  midst  of  a 
wilderness  —  the  prisoners  of  a  band  of  armed  villains, 
who  were  watching  to  execute  a  murder  —  which,  if  it 
did  happen,  must  occur  in  their  sight ;  and  that,  too, 
the  murder  of  a  bishop  —  one  of  those,  who,  being 
elevated  to  a  high  position  in  the  church,  seemed  to  be 
forever  secured  from  the  blood-stained  hands  of  mis- 
creants. 
« 

Speechless  with  horror  —  tearless  from  terror  —  and 
Avith  all  their  senses  absorbed  in  that  of  hearing,  two 
hours  had  passed  away,  when  the  rapid  movement  of  a 
horse  behind  them  made  them  both  shriek  —  it  was  a 
long  shriek  of  anguish  and  dismay  ;  and,  in  their  ap- 
prehensive fears,  or  in  their  excitement,  or  from  the 
keenness  to  which  the  sense  of  hearing  had  been  excited. 


148  THE  POPE   AND   THE  EMPEROR. 

both  supposed  that  they  heard  that  shriek  echoed  back 
to  them  from  a  distant  part  of  the  ravine.  Both  thought 
this,  but  neither  said  so  to  her  companion ;  for  they 
were,  at  the  same  instant,  addressed  by  Gertraud,  who, 
jumping  from  her  steed,  said: 

''  What  cowards  you  are  !  why,  your  shrieks  are  worse 
to  hear  than  the  groans  of  a  wounded  horse  when  dying 
in  battle.      Has  any  thing  occurred  since  I  left  you  ?  " 

**  There  has  not  been  the  slightest  stir  or  movement 
any  where,"  said  Gretcheu.  *'  I  would  suppose  that  the 
soldiers  have  left  us  to  ourselves.  I  have  not  seen  one 
of  them,  nor  heard  the  voice  of  a  sentinel." 

"  O,  there  are  no  men  like  to  ours  for  an  ambuscade," 
said  Gertraud,  proudly.  "  I  defy  an  enemy  to  dis- 
cover where  they  are  until  the  sword  of  one  of  them 
is  in  his  back.  That  is  the  way  we  act  when  we  have 
recourse  to  ambuscades.  You  say  you  have  not  seen 
nor  heard  one  of  them  for  the  two  hours  that  are  now 
passed  away  ?     Let  me  see  if  I  cannot  discover  them." 

Gertraud,  as  she  spoke,  withdrew  behind  a  tree  — 
gave  a  gentle,  low  chirrup  with  her  lips,  as  if  it  came 
from  a  bird  —  and  it  was  replied  to,  from  various  points, 
by  sounds  similar  to  that  which  she  had  emitted. 

"  Ah  ! "  said  she,  stepping  again  forward,  and  joining 
Beatrice  and  Gretchen,  "  if  the  poor  Bishop  of  Osna- 
bruck  stood  in  the  same  spot  that  you  noAv  occupy,  he 
would  have  five  arrows  shot  through  him  before  he 
would  have  time  to  bless  himself" 

"  O,  horrible  !  horrible  !  "  ejaculated  Beatrice.  "  But 
do  you  not  think  there  is  a  chance  of  the  bishop  es- 
caping ? " 

"  Escaping  !  and  Diedrich  lying  in  ambush  for  him  — 
impossible,  unless  he  is  a  saint  or  a  magician  ;  unless  he 


THE  spy.  149 

can  fly  up  to  heaven,  or  change  himself  into  a  bird  — 
but  hist !  "  exclaimed  Gertraud.  "  I  told  you  so  —  he 
has  been  discovered.  Our  men  are  in  pursuit  of  his 
retinue.  There  is  rich  plunder  for  us.  I  must  have  my 
share.  As  to  you  —  do  what  you  can  for  him.  Upon 
your  knees,  girls,  and  say  — '  May  the  Lord  have  mer- 
cy on  his  soul ! '  " 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  SPY. 

The  time  fixed  for  holding  the  Diet  of  Frankfort,  as 
■well  as  the  assembling  of  the  German  bishops  in  synod, 
was  now  fast  approaching.  By  Henry  it  was  wished  for 
with  a  confidence  that  was  darkened  with  but  few  appre- 
hensions ;  whilst,  by  his  hapless  wife.  Bertha,  it  was 
waited  for  with  a  fear  that  was  lighted  up  but  with  scanty 
and  evanescent  gleams  of  hope.  Her  only  chance  rested 
upon  accidents  —  that  Dedi  should  safely  reach  the  court 
of  the  pontiff;  that  the  pontiff  would  consider  her  case 
required  his  interference  ;  and  would  it  be  prudent  for 
one  so  weak  in  temporal  power  as  the  pope,  for  the  sake 
of  a  single,  friendless  woman,  to  place  himself  in  direct 
hostility  to  the  most  powerful,  despotic,  and  unscrupulous 
monarch  in  Europe  ;  and,  supposing  all  these  apprehended 
dangers  were  overcome,  whether  there  was  the  possibility 
of  the  pope's  legate  obtaining  admission  into  Frankfort, 
if  he  arrived  in  time  to  preside  over  the  deliberations  of 
the  synod  —  and,  last  of  all,  if  she  could  hope,  that,  by 
13* 


150  THE  POPE   AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

any  lucky  circumstance,  the  legate  could  be  in  Frankfort, 
with  the  papal  decision,  at  that  precise  moment  when  his 
presence  might  save  her  from  the  shame  and  dishonor 
with  which  her  husband  was  anxious  to  overwhelm  her. 

"  This  is  a  gallant  and  a  glorious  sight  for  a  king  to 
see,"  said  Henry,  to  his  followers,  as  his  heart  swelled 
with  pride,  in  beholding  the  number  of  men  that  were 
clustering  from  all  sides  beneath  him,  and  each  of  whom 
was  regarded,  not  so  much  as  a  subject,  that  he  was  bound 
to  protect,  as  the  ready  tool  of  his  absolute  will.  "  There 
is  not  a  man  there  that  I  do  not  regard  as  a  soldier  for 
my  war  in  Saxony." 

"  All  are  so,"  observed  Egen,  "  except  those  few  that 
you  see  yonder  —  that  hold  themselves  closely  by  the 
banner  of  Otho,  and  of  Dedi,  and  that  keep  aloof  from 
the  throng,  as  if  they  stood  akeady  condemned  by  the 
ban  of  the  empire." 

"  They  are  few,  indeed,"  remarked  Lieman  ;  "  but  I 
have  been  close  up  to  their  lines,  and  I  can  assure  you, 
that  there  is  not  one  of  them  but  has  been  in  battle.  It 
is  a  little  army  of  veterans." 

"  Do  you  account  Dedi  the  younger  as  amongst  the 
veterans  ?  "  asked  Count  Werenher. 

"  I  do  not,"  answered  Lieman  ;  "  nor  did  I  allude  to 
him  as  being  amongst  those  veterans,  and  for  a  sufficient 
reason  —  he  is  not  with  that  little  band." 

"  What  say  you,  Lieman  ?  "  asked  King  Henry.  "Ai-e 
you  sure  that  the  younger  Dedi  is  not  at  the  head  of  his 
father's  soldiers  in  Frankfort  ?  " 

"  I  am  certain  he  is  not,"  answered  Lieman.  "  No 
man  is  better  known  in  Frankfort  than  Dedi  the  younger  ; 
and  I  can  assure  you  that  he  is  neither  in  the  city  nor  lq 
the  encampment." 


THE    SPY.  151 

*'  What  means  this  ? "  asked  Plenry,  in  an  indignant 
tone.  "  Am  I  to  suppose  it  possible,  that  the  son  of 
Count  Dedi  will  presume  not  to  appear  and  tender  me 
homage  at  my  court  in  Frankfort  ?  This  looks  as  if  a 
rebellion  were  contemplated." 

"  The  time  for  requiring  him  to  appear,  or  to  receive 
a  valid  excuse  for  his  absence  is  not  yet  come,"  remarked 
Werenher  ;  "  but  this  I  feel  assured  of,  that  nothing  but 
a  matter  of  vital  importance  to  himself,  or  against  your 
Majesty,  could  induce  the  younger  Dedi  to  absent  him- 
self from  such  a  military  array  as  we  now  look  upon." 

"  Count  Werenher,"  said  Henry,  somewhat  pettishly, 
"  I  warned  you,  some  time  since,  to  surround  the  Dedis 
and  Otho  with  spies,  so  that  we  might  be  informed  be- 
times of  their  entire  proceedings.  How  ill  you  have 
performed  your  task  we  have  now  the  proof;  for  you 
knew  not  of  the  absence  of  the  younger  Dedi  until  Lie- 
man  told  you  of  it ;  and  now,  instead  of  focts,  you  can 
only  supply  me  with  your  guesses,  and  yovu-  suspicions. 
How  am  I  to  know  that  the  absence  of  Dedi  may  not  be 
connected  with  some  plot  that  affects  my  happiness,  or 
even  my  life  ?  " 

"  It  is  quite  true,"  answered  Werenher,  "  that  your 
Majesty  did  so  warn  me  ;  but  if  you  will  be  pleased  to 
recollect,  I  also  at  the  same  time  apprised  you,  that  it 
was  almost  impossible  to  indu.ce  a  Saxon  to  betray  the 
secrets  of  the  Dedis,  or  of  Otho.  I  paid  men  as  spies, 
and  they  have  misled  me.  It  is  not  an  hour  since  I  saw 
one  of  them,  who  assured  me  that  young  Dedi  is  in 
Frankfort.  I  gave  him  a  piece  of  gold,  and  ordered  him 
to  be  abundantly  supplied  with  food  and  wine.  Per- 
chance, the  villain  is  stiU  in  the  palace,  and  acting  as  a 
spy  upon  us,  even  whilst  partaking  of  your  Majesty's 


152         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEKOR. 

hospitality.  Hare  I  your  Majesty's  permission  to  seek 
for  him  ?  " 

*'  Assuredly/'  said  Henry,  "  if  the  villain  has  deceived 
von,  I  shall,  with  my  own  eyes,  see  him  seethed  alive." 

"Believe  me,"  observed  Egen,  *'that  if  the  Saxon 
slave  has  resolved  upon  deceiving  you,  no  threats,  that 
you  may  use,  will  terrify,  nor  any  tortures,  however  ex- 
quisite, extort  from  him  the  truth.  These  Saxons  are  a 
dogged,  desperate,  obstinate  and  malignant  race  of  men." 

"We  shall  see  —  we  shall  see,"  said  Henry,  chafing 
at  the  notion  that  any  living  man  should  dare  openly  to 
defy  him.  "But  here  he  comes  —  a  pretty  fellow,  for- 
sooth, to  set  a  king  at  defiance.  Come  hither,  sirrah," 
he  said  to  a  man  apparently  about  five  and  twenty  years 
of  age,  with  short,  sandy  hair,  an  enormous,  bushy  beard, 
a  red  face,  and  a  strong  muscular  body,  although  some- 
what below  the  middle  size  of  men  of  his  race.  "  Come 
hither,  sirrah !  kneel  down  there  before  me." 

The  man  knelt  as  he  had  been  directed,  and  looked  up 
at  the  king  with  a  stupid,  vacant  stare,  as  if  he  did  not 
well  understand  what  was  said  to  him,  or  that  terror  had 
deprived  him  of  all  his  faculties. 

"  Now,  slave,"  said  Henry,  "  know  that  you  are  per- 
mitted to  kneel  in  presence  of  your  king  ;  that  you  are 
suspected  of  having  deceived  the  sovereign  through  the 
misinformation  you  gave  to  his  faithful  friend,  Count 
"VVerenher  —  a  crime,  for  which,  it  is  most  probable,  I 
shall  content  myself  with  simply  having  you  hanged. 
Whether  you  shall  be  tortured  to  death  or  not  depends 
upon  the  truth  with  which  you  answer  me.  Do  you 
understand  what  T  am  now  sapng  to  you  ?  " 

A  ray  of  intelligence  shot  forth  from  the  eyes  of  the 
man.     He  gazed  steadfastly  at  Henry,  as  if  for  the  pur- 


THE    SPY.  153 

pose  of  ascertaining  -whether  he  spoke  in  seriousness  or 
was  merely  seeking  to  terrify  him  by  a  jesting  threat ; 
but  the  contracted  frown  of  the  king,  the  flush  on  the 
cheek,  and  the  fire  of  vengeance  in  the  eye,  showed  to 
him  that  his  death  was  determined  upon.  He  next 
looked  in  the  faces  of  the  courtiers  ;  but  there  he  saw 
imprinted  upon  every  feature  a  passive,  or  utter  indifier- 
ence  to  him ;  showing,  that  in  none  of  them  could  he 
look  for  a  pitying  and  merciful  intercession  on  his  behalf. 
He  looked  behind  him,  and  saw  the  dark  towers  rising 
up  to  enclose  him,  whilst  there  stood  as  a  guard  between, 
him  and  the  ramparts,  four  men  —  the  king  and  Weren- 
her  incensed  against  him ;  Lieman  and  Egen  ready,  if 
directed,  to  slaughter  him.  A  shudder  passed  through 
the  strong  man.  He  bent  down  to  the  earth,  kissed  it 
fervently,  and  said  : 

"  The  will  of  God  be  done  !  " 

He  then  looked  up  to  the  king,  and  said  : 

"  What  your  Majesty  has  said  to  me,  I  understand 
perfectly." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Hemy,  "  now  observe  :  answer  me 
candidly  —  if  I  find  you  falter  in  the  slightest  degree,  I 
will  have  every  morsel  of  skin  that  covers  your  body  torn 
away  from  you,  an  inch  at  the  end  of  every  hour !  " 

"  O,  mercy  !  mercy  !  "  exclaimed  the  man,  shuddering. 

"  Not  a  particle  —  if  you  tell  me  a  falsehood.  And 
now,  fellow,  what  is  your  name  ?  " 

"Bruin,"  answered  the  man. 

"Bruin  —  Bruin!  I  have  heard  that  name  before," 
remarked  Lieman.      "  Of  whom  are  you  the  serf?" 

*•'  I  am  no  serf,"  replied  Bruin,  "  I  am  a  freeman  and 
a  soldier.  I  was  born  a  serf;  but  the  good  Duke  Otho 
made  me  fi*ee." 


154  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

"  Then  you  are  a  spy  ?  "  remarked  the  king. 

"  I  am,"  answered  Bruin. 

**  A  spy  upon  me !  "  said  the  king. 

*'  Yes,"  said  Bruin. 

"  And  for  Duke  Otho,  or  Count  Dedi,  I  warrant,"  re- 
marked Egen. 

"  No,"  was  the  answer  of  Bruin. 

*'  Then  I  am  sure  for  Dedi  the  younger,"  suggested 
Werenher. 

*'  For  none  of  them,"  said  Bruin.  "  I  am  a  spy  on 
my  own  account.  I  became  so,  without  the  knowledge 
of  any  one  ;  but  with  the  determination,  that,  if  I  dis- 
covered aught  that  might  be  useful  for  my  master  to 
know,  he  should  be  informed  of  it,  and  that,  too,  without 
telling  him  how  the  intelligence  had  been  gained." 

"  Wretch  and  villain,"  said  Henry,  "  for  this,  if  I  spare 
your  life  —  and  I  do  not  think  I  shall  —  it  can  be  only 
on  condition  of  having  your  eyes  and  tongue  torn  out,  and 
your  hair  and  beard  shorn  off." 

"  Mercy  !  mercy !  "  cried  Bruin. 

"  None  —  O,  none,"  said  Henry.  "  And  so  —  having 
determined  to  become  a  spy  upon  me  —  your  king  — 
remember  that,  traitor  —  you  accepted  the  gold  of  We- 
renher, promising  him  that  you  would  act  as  a  spy  upon 
the  Dedis  for  me." 

"  I  did,"  said  Bruin. 

''  And  doing  this,  you  intended  to  deceive  and  mislead 
Werenher,"  observed  Henry. 

"  I  did,"  said  Bruin. 

"  And  you  have  deceived  and  misled  him,"  said  Henry, 
whoso  passion  was  becoming  excited  by  the  cool  and 
resolute  answers  of  Bruin. 

"  I  have,  most  effectually,"  said  Bruin. 


THE    SPY.  155 

**  There  is  not  a  tooth  in  your  head  that  I  will  not  see 
drawn  out,"  said  Henry,  now  foaming  with  passion. 

"  O,  mercy  —  mercy!  "  piteously  exclaimed  Bruin. 

"  Silence  —  slave  !  "  exclaimed  Henry  ;  "  then  it  is  not 
the  truth  that  Dedi  is  now  in  Frankfort  ?  " 

"  It  is  the  very  opposite  of  the  truth,"  answered  Bruin, 
calmly. 

"  How  long  is  he  absent  from  Frankfort  ? "  asked 
Henry. 

"  I  will  not  tell,"  said  Bruin. 

"  What !  will  not  tell  ?  "  cried  Henry,  in  amazement. 

"  No,"  answered  Bruin,  "  I  will  not  tell,  although  I 
say  to  you,  at  the  same  time,  with  perfect  candor,  that 
I  do  not  know  why  he  is  absent.  I  only  refuse  to  tell, 
because  I  believe  it  would  be  of  advantage  to  his  enemies 
to  know  the  fact." 

"  Then  where  is  he  gone  to  ?  "  asked  Henry. 

Bruin  did  not  answer  this  question  as  readily  as  all  the 
others  that  had  preceded  it.  He  appeared  to  reflect  as 
to  the  reply  he  ought  to  give. 

"  Why  do  you  hesitate  ?  "  continued  Henry. 

"  I  was  thinking,"  said  Bruin,  "  what  answer  I  ought 
to  give  you  ;  and  the  only  answer  that  I  will  give  is  — 
he  may  have  gone  to  Cologne." 

"  Eemember,  I  can  have  you  tortured  to  death  !  "  said 
Henry,  clinching  his  hand  in  the  face  of  the  unhappy 
man. 

"  I  do,"  he  replied,  ''  and  therefore,  it  is  that  I  so 
answer  you  —  he  may  have  gone  to  Cologne :  I  do  not 
say  that  he  has  :  search  for  him  there  —  and,  perchance, 
you  may  find  him." 

"  I  have  done  with  you,  wretch :  and  now  knoAv  my 
sentence  upon  you.     It  is,  that  you  be  taken  and  put  in, 


156  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROE. 

a  large  caldron  —  that  caldron  then  placed  on  a  roaring 
fire  —  and  that  you  be  thus  boiled  to  death.  It  is  thus 
they  punish  great  criminals  in  Flanders,  and  I  mean  to 
make  the  first  experiment  of  such  a  death  upon  your 
worthless  carcass.  It  will,  I  think,  be  a  sufficient  torture 
for  all  your  crimes." 

Bruin  bent  his  head  —  kissed  the  earth  —  made  the 
sign  of  the  cross  on  his  forehead  —  and  then,  without 
uttering  a  word,  he  shot  up,  as  it  seemed,  with  one  bound- 
ing motion  from  the  earth,  striking  his  head  full  in  the 
face  of  the  king,  and  prostrating  him  with  the  shock,  and 
at  the  same  instant  he  was  on  the  battlements,  making  a 
desperate  springing  plunge,  that  brought  him  clear  beyond 
the  trench  outside  the  walls,  from  whence,  he  was  ob- 
served running  direct  across  the  fields  towards  the  en- 
campment of  Otho.  He  was  safe  from  pursuit.  Not  even 
an  arrow  was  discharged  after  him ;  for  the  few  soldiers 
that  were  on  the  ramparts  had  withdrawn  from  the  place 
where  the  king  and  his  friends  had  been  conversing ;  and 
the  first  intimation  they  had  of  any  thing  unusual  having 
occurred,  was  seeing  the  king  l>ing  on  his  back,  perfectly 
senseless,  and  his  face  covered  with  blood.  Those  who 
saw  a  man  running  across  the  plain,  never,  for  an  instant, 
supposed  that  the  circumstance  could  have  any  connection 
with  what  had  befallen  their  sovereign  on  the  fortress  wall. 

Ilem-y's  first  words  were  : 

"  Is  the  villain  alive  ?  " 

'*  He  is,"  answered  Werenher. 

*'  And  unharmed  ?  "  asked  Henry. 

"  Yes,"  said  Werenher. 

"  Thank  heaven !  "  cried  Henry.  "  Now,  count,  take 
especial  care,  that  he  be  strictly,  cautiously,  and  even 
tenderly  guarded." 


THE    SPY.  157 

**  Guarded ! "  exclaimed  Werenher,  much  embarrassed, 
"  I  am  sorry  to  tell  your  Majesty  that  he  has  escaped." 

"  Escaped !  "  said  Henry,  who  hitherto  had  been  re- 
clining on  a  seat,  weak,  and  exhausted  by  the  loss  of 
blood.  "  Escaped  !  "  he  repeated,  as  he  started  up,  driven, 
by  rage,  almost  to  madness.  "  Escaped !  How  ?  where  ? 
when  ?  In  my  own  palace  —  on  the  ramparts  —  in  the 
face  of  thousands  of  soldiers  —  in  the  presence  of  my 
subjects  —  within  an  arm's  length  of  my  friends  —  I  — 
the  king  —  the  imperial  ruler  of  Germany  —  am  struck 

—  struck  even  to  the  very  earth,  by  a  serf 's  son  —  by  a 
base,  double-dealing  spy,  and  yet,  I  am  told,  that  he  who 
did  this  has  escaped  !  Escaped  !  then  he  must  have  van- 
ished into  air,  I  have  been  contending  with  a  phantom, 
and  not  a  man.  Say  so  to  me,  and  I  can  believe  you ; 
for  that  itself  would  be  more  credible,  than  to  assure  me 
that  the  wretch  who  knelt  there  but  a  few  minutes  before, 
and  who  has  dishonored  me,  can  have  escaped  living 
from  the  swords  of  my  friends,  and  the  arrows  of  my 
soldiers.  O,  but  to  have  the  villain  living  within  my 
grasp.  The  weight  of  his  head  in  gold  for  him,  if  living  ; 
but  not  dead  :  no  —  no  common  death  for  him.     A  death 

—  O,  a  clever,  ingenious,  cruel,  awful  death  —  a  death, 
that  a  king  must  pity,  for  him  who  has  shed  the  blood 
of  a  king.  It  must  be  this.  Either  such  a  death  as  that, 
or  none  at  all.  Attend  to  this,  Werenher:  I  -svill  not 
have  him  killed.  I  must  have  him  an  uninjured,  living 
man,  to  look  upon.  If  he  dies  in  any  other  way,  then  — ■ 
he  has  done  that  which  you  say  —  he  has  really  escaped !  " 

"  At  present,  my  liege,  he  is  not  within  the  precincts 
of  the  palace,"  said  Egen.      "  As  soon  as   the  bird  that 
has  flown  from  the  cage  has  been  coaxed  or  captured  back 
again  into  it,  your  Majesty  shall  be  informed." 
14 


158         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

"  I  will,"  said  Henry,  ''  tliiuk  no  more  of  him,  until 
I  see  liim  again  before  me,  and  then  I  shall  propose  a 
prize  to  the  man  who  can  devise  the  most  shocking 
tortures  for  him.  It  adds  to  my  desire  of  vengeance, 
against  such  a  caitiff,  that  he  should  be  able  to  occupy  so 
much  of  my  thoughts,  when  matters  of  higher  importance, 
and  of  greater  interest  to  myself  should  engage  my  atten- 
tion. But  this  villain  has  assaulted  me,"  continued 
Henry,  in  despite  of  himself,  exhibiting  the  impotency 
of  his  rage,  in  the  harsh  epithets  he  used ;  "  this  miscreant 
said  that  the  younger  Dedi  may,  at  this  moment,  be  in 
Cologne.     What  think  you,  Werenher  ?  " 

"  That  because  he  said  so,  it  is  not  the  truth,"  answered 
Werenher. 

"I  know  not  that,"  said  Lieman.  "He  said  many 
things  that  were  true,  also  —  as,  for  instance,  that  he  had 
completely  cajoled,  and  successfully  deluded  you,  count." 


CHAPTER    XII. 

THE  CONTEST   FOR  PRECEDENCY. 

"  I  HAVE,"  said  the  Prior  Croft,  upon  being  intro- 
duced to  King  Henry,  "  a  favor  to  demand  of  your 
Majesty  ;  it  is  that  you  will  be  pleased  to  accept  from 
the  most  devoted  and  most  loving  of  your  subjects  this 
diamond  cross." 

"  This  ! "  exclaimed  Henry,  examining  the  gift  with 
the  eye  not  merely  of  a  connoisseur,  but  of  a  consum- 
mate judge  in  such  matters.     "  Why  this  is  the  richest 


THE   CONTEST  FOR   PRECEDENCY.  150 

present  tliat  ever  yet  was  made  to  me.  This  is  the  true 
Byzantine  workmanship  —  these  are  as  pure  diamonds 
as  ever  came  from  the  East.  What  an  enormous  sum 
they  must  have  cost  you  !  " 

"  They  cost  me  no  more  than  the  bestowal  of  freedom 
upon  a  single  serf ;  and  the  cross,  as  you  see  it,  was  for 
that  purpose  bestowed  upon  me,  by  the  pilgrim  who  was 
wounded  in  AschafFenburg,  when  resisting  some  of  your 
soldiers  in  carrying  off  a  maiden." 

"  Indeed  !  "  said  Henry,  "  and  know  you  who  this 
wealthy  pilgrim  may  be  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  the  prior,  "  he  appeared  to  me  to  be  a 
man  whose  mind  had  become  crazed  by  being  always 
fixed  upon  some  one  idea,  whatever  that  might  be. 
That  he  is  not  in  full  possession  of  his  senses  is  proved 
by  the  enormous  price  he  paid  for  a  single  slave." 

"  No  pilgrim,  but  a  man  of  noble  rank  and  of  great 
wealth,  could  be  possessed  of  a  treasure  like  this.  I 
wish  I  may  meet  with  him.  I  should  like  to  have  the 
rifling  of  his  scrip.  But,  good  Prior  Croft,  tell  me 
what  I  can  do  for  you  ?  Do  you  wish  for  the  vacant 
mitre  of  Abbot  Meginherr  ?  "  asked  Henry. 

"  I  do  not,"  answered  the  prior.  "  I  have  had  the 
management  of  his  wealth  for  many  years  ;  and  I  have 
left  the  monastery  so  poor  that  it  is  now  only  fitted  for 
the  reception  of  some  one  that  your  Majesty  may  desire 
to  mortify  by  bestowing  it  upon  him.  I  have  thought 
of  your  INIajesty,  and  how  much  more  usefully  its  money 
could  be  dispensed  by  you,  than  if  left  to  rust  in  the 
treasure-chamber  of  AschafFenburg.  I  have,  in  addition 
to  this  cross,  brought  with  mc  a  large  sum  in  coins  of 
gold,  and  with  these,  some  magnificently  covered  Bibles, 
thick  with  gems,  and  every  leaf  of  wliich  is  illuminated 


160         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEEOR. 

with  paintings  in  the  richest  colors,  and  letters  of  gold 
and  silver." 

"  O,  most  wise,  prudent,  and  loyal  prior,"  cried 
"Henry,  whose  eyes  sparkled  with  joy,  when  he  heard 
of  these  rich  gifts,  "  What  can  I  bestow  upon  you  iu 
exchange  for  them  ?  " 

**  The  bishopric  of  Hildesheim,"  answered  Croft. 

"  The  bishopric  of  Hildesheim  !  would  that  I  could 
confer  it  upon  you,"  said  Henry.  "  It  is  not  yet  vacant. 
The  bishop  is  still  living." 

"  The  bishop  was  living  two  days  ago,"  observed  Croft, 
"  but  he  has  long  been  ailing  —  and  I  have  had  a  sure 
friend  in  attendance  upon  him,  from  whom  I  heard  last 
night  that  he  had  expired  the  day  before.  It  is  a  rich 
diocese  —  it  will  enable  me  to  save  much  more  wealth 
for  your  Majesty  than  I  possibly  could  do  in  the  poor 
Abbacy  of  Aschaffenburg  ;  and  that  wealth,  whatever  it 
be,  shall  be  all  yours  whenever  an  archiepiscopal  mitre 
becomes  vacant." 

'*  Prior  Croft,  the  moment  that  the  crosier  and  ring 
of  the  dead  bishop  are  placed  in  my  hands,  they  shall 
be  consigned  to  your  care,"  said  Henry.  "  You  are  the 
man  most  suited  to  be  a  bishop  of  mine.  It  is  a  pleas- 
ure and  a  profit  to  me  to  promote  men  like  you  ;  for 
there  is  no  whining  hypocrisy  about  you  —  no  paltry 
squeamishness  ;  no  pretence  of  doing  that  for  piety's 
sake  which  you  really  do  for  your  own.  Croft  —  Bishop 
Croft,  believe  me,  when  I  say  that  I  love  you,  and 
henceforward  shall  regard  you,  like  your  cousin  Weren- 
her,  as  amongst  my  most  trusty  councillors." 

"  I  thank  your  Majesty  for  your  goodness,"  said 
Croft,  "  and,  if  the  constant  gifts  of  gold  can  be  re- 
garded as  proofs  of  my  affection,  rest  assured  that  the 


THE   CONTEST  FOR  PRECEDENCY.  161 

people  of  Hilcleshcim  shall  be  made  to  feel  that  I  am  a 
diligent  worker  in  the  service  of  my  sovereign." 

"  Enough  of  professions,  and  even  of  thanks,  cousin 
Croft,"  said  Werenher.  "  I  have  spoken  much  of  your 
talents  to  his  Majesty,  and  now,  mayhap,  you  may  give 
him  a  proof  of  them.  It  is  a  matter  of  the  utmost  im- 
portance, that  as  many  of  the  bishops  and  abbots  as  pos- 
sible may  be  prevented  from  attending  the  approaching 
synod,  or  even  taking  part  in  the  diet.  Can  you  devise 
the  means  for  carrying  into  effect  the  wish  of  his  Ma- 
jesty ?  To  prove  to  you  its  importance,  it  may  sufSce 
to  say,  that  King  Henry  has  despatched  Lieman  to  Co- 
logne for  the  sole  purpose  of  creating  such  a  disturbance 
there  as  will  render  it  impossible  for  Anno  to  leave  his 
diocese." 

"Let  me  see — let  me  see,"  said  Croft,  walking  up 
and  down  the  room  for  two  or  three  minutes,  and  seem- 
ingly buried  in  profound  thought.  As  he  walked,  he 
threw  out  his  arms  wildly,  as  if  seeking  to  grasp,  in  the 
air,  for  something  which  he  might  cling  to  for  support. 
Henry  and  Werenher  ran  to  him,  and  catching  hold  of 
him,  as  he  was  about  falling  to  the  earth,  they  placed 
him  upon  a  seat,  and  were  shocked  upon  perceiving  that 
his  features  were  convulsed,  that  all  his  face  became  of 
a  purple  hue,  and  that  this  color  suddenly  disappeared, 
and  was  succeeded  by  the  awful  pallor  of  death.  He 
gazed  distractedly  at  both,  and  then,  placing  his  hand 
before  his  eyes,  he  remained  in  that  attitude  for  a  min- 
ute ;  and  then,  starting  suddenly  up,  he  walked  about 
the  apartment  again  as  if  nothing  had  occurred,  and 
said,  in  a  cheerful  tone  of  voice  :  "  I  pray  your  IMajesty's 
pardon.  It  is  a  slight  illness,  which  sometimes  affects 
me  when  I  give  up  my  mind  to  the  iutense  contempla- 
U* 


162         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROE. 

tion  of  any  subject  in  which  I  feel  deeply  and  personally 
interested.  Such  has  been  now  the  case  with  me ;  but 
it  is  an  attack  cheaply  purchased,  if  it  should  serve  to 
promote  your  Majesty's  wishes.  I  think  I  have  devised 
a  good  scheme,  if  your  Majesty  can  answer  one  question 
in  the  manner  that  I  suppose  you  are  enabled  to  do. 
How  stands  Widerad,  the  Abbot  of  Fulda,  affected  to 
your  Majesty  ?  " 

"  As  much  opposed  to  me  as  a  subject  dare  be  to  the 
king  he  dislikes,"  answered  Henry. 

*'  It  is  as  I  supposed,"  replied  Croft,  "  I  know  well 
many  of  his  monks,  and  I  am  aware,  through  them,  of 
the  hatred  entertained  against  him  ;  for  he  is  one  of 
those  ftxnatics,  wlio,  under  the  pretence  of  reforming  the 
church  abuses,  is  seeking  to  deprive  the  monks  of  their 
little  indulgences,  and  compelling  them  to  adhere  to  the 
hard,  harsh  rules  of  the  ancient  discipline.  I  think  I  shall 
find  work  for  him  to  do  in  Fulda,  as  Lieman  is  to  procure 
home-occupation  for  the  rigid  Anno.  That  will  be  the 
smallest  benefit  derived  from  my  scheme.  Your  Majesty 
may  remember  that,  when  celebrating  the  festival  of 
Christmas  at  Goslar,  a  dispute  for  precedency  took  place 
between  Hecelon,  the  late  BishojD  of  Hildesheim,  and 
Widerad,  the  Abbot  of  Fulda  —  namely,  as  to  which  of 
them  had  the  right  to  have  his  seat  placed  next  to  that 
of  the  Archbishop  of  Mayence.  In  that  dispute,  a  con- 
sideration for  the  antiquity  of  the  Abbacy  of  Fulda, 
backed  by  the  abbot's  knights,  secured  the  victory  to 
Widerad.  Have  it  now  publicly  proclaimed  that  I  ara 
nominated  the  Bishop  of  Hikleshcim  :  depend  upon  it, 
I  shall  revive  that  dispute  in  such  a  manner,  that  no 
bishop  will  venture  to  remain  in  Frankfort  but  such  as 
shall  feel  himself  secure   under  the  protection  of  your 


THE  PARLIAMENT   IN  FRANKFORT.  163 

Majesty.  For  this  purpose,  however,  Werenher  and 
his  soldiers  must  assist  me." 

"  Excellent  mau  !  wise  and  prudent  councillor  !  True 
and  trusty  Bishop  of  Hildesheim.  All  shall  be  done  as 
you  command/'  said  Henry. 

"  And  all  shall  succeed  as  your  Majesty  wishes/'  re- 
plied Croft.  "  The  sun  shall  not  set  until  my  plan  is 
carried  into  execution." 


•   CHAPTEE    XIII. 

THE   PARLIAMENT   IN  FRANKFORT. 

The  diet  or  parliament  that  had  been  convoked  by 
Henry,  at  Frankfort,  for  the  especial,  although  un- 
avowed,  purpose  of  destroying  Otho,  Duke  of  Bavaria, 
was  one  remarkable  for  its  magnificence.  There  Henry 
was  to  be  seen,  high-throned  above  all  others,  wearing, 
as  if  it  were  the  day  of  his  coronation  as  emperor,  the 
imperial  robes,  beneath  which  was  his  military  tunic  of 
linen,  made  tight  to  the  waist  with  a  belt  of  pure  gold ; 
and  to  that  belt  was  attached  a  sword  in  a  sheath  of  bur- 
nished gold,  and  having  a  hilt  that  was  refulgent  with 
sparkling  jewels.  He  wore  on  his  head  a  king's  crown, 
and  not  the  massive,  imperial  crown  of  Charlemagne,  set 
with  rough  diamonds  ;  and  about  him  were  the  grand 
officers  of  the  empire,  by  virtue  of  their  rank,  as  well 
as  their  office,  having  on  their  heads  dazzling  coronets, 
and  robes  that  were  stiff  with  gold.  These  were  the 
mareschal,  or  groom  —  the    truchsess,  or  carver  —  the 


164  THE  POPE  AND   THE  EMPEEOR. 

mundsclienk,  or  cupbearer  —  the  kammerer,  or  cham- 
berlain —  the  kuchenmeister,  or  master  of  the  kitchen  — 
the  hausmeier,  or  master  of  the  household  —  and  with 
these,  were  to  be  seen,  but  all  in  gorgeous  armor,  the 
great  crown  vassals  or  counts,  with  the  dukes  of  various 
principalities ;  and  arranged  close  to  the  king,  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Mayence,  the  bishops,  and  high  abbots  of  the 
empire,  and  all  with  mitres,  crosiers,  in  their  richest 
vestments  of  state  ;  whilst  around  the  church,  in  which 
the  assembly  was  held,  and  outside  the  walls,  and  guard- 
ing every  avenue,  were  the  red -clothed,  strongly-armed 
schaaren,  or  mercenary  troops,  in  the  especial  pay  of  the 
sovereign. 

Such  a  spectacle  was  one  in  which  Henry  took  especial 
delight ;  for  he  not  merely  desired  to  have  power,  but 
he  wished  the  world  to  be  convinced,  by  such  an  exhi- 
bition as  this,  that  he  could  exercise  it.  On  the  present 
occasion  he  believed  there  were  none  present  but  those 
who  were  his  steadfast  friends ;  for,  as  he  had  taken 
care  to  terrify,  by  a  deed  of  blood,  the  bishops  hostile 
to  him,  from  being  in  attendance,  so  had  he  also  taken 
care  that  few  briefs  shoukl  be  addressed  to  any  but  his 
adherents,  of  the  dukes  or  counts  of  the  empire,  inviting 
them  to  this  assembly,  to  afford  to  him  tlieir  "  advice  and 
assistance."  He  had,  to  use  a  modern  phrase,  that  the 
malignity  and  perversity  of  men  have  rendered  but  too 
familiar,  ''packed "  his  parliament,  or  diet,  as  he  had 
*'  packed  "  the  synod  of  the  bishops  ;  and  he  calculated 
upon  obtaining  from  both  "  a  verdict  contrary  to  the 
evidence." 

The  proceedings,  on  this  occasion,  were  commenced 
by  Henry,  wlio  thus  addressed  his  hearers  : 

"  Princes,  dukes,  archbishops,  bishops,  abbots,  counts 


THE  PARLIAMENT   IN  FRANKFORT.  165 

of  the  empire,  we  have  unwillingly,  but  yet,  perforce, 
felt  ourselves  compelled,  to  summon  you  to  a  colloquy 
with  us  this  day.  We  have  done  so  unwillingly  ;  for 
we  well  know  that  it  is  a  grievous  burden  upon  most  of 
you  to  have  to  travel  such  a  distance  upon  affairs  which 
can  but  remotely,  as  individuals,  concern  you  ;  and  yet 
we  have  done  so,  because  as  members  of  the  German 
empire,  it  is  of  vital  consequence  to  you,  that  no  treason 
of  any  one  indi\ddual  should  tend  to  diminish,  and,  may- 
hap, destroy  that  empire,  which  we,  when  taking  the  oath 
of  emperor,  are  bound  to  swear  that  we  shall  augment. 

"  "VVe  have  done  so,  perforce,  because  the  occasion 
has  arisen,  when  we  felt  ourselves  compelled  to  call  our 
princes  together,  in  order  that  we  might  have,  as  it  is 
our  right  to  have,  their  advice,  and,  if  need  be,  their 
assistance  and  support.  We  wish,  in  your  presence,  to 
be  consoled  by  the  proof  of  your  loyalty ;  and  we  de- 
sire, by  your  wise  counsels,  to  be  directed  how  we  may 
act  with  prudence  and  with  justice. 

"  Hence  it  is,  dearest  friends,  and  loving  subjects, 
that  we  have  summoned  you  to  attend  us  here  this  day, 
so  that  we  may  with  you  consult  how  we  may  best  pro- 
vide for  the  peace  of  the  land,  the  honor  of  the  church, 
the  due  respect  to  be  paid  to  princes,  and  the  fitting 
happiness  of  the  people. 

"  None  of  these  things  are  attainable,  if  treason  re- 
main unpunished,  or  perjury  continue  unchastised. 

"  Of  all  treasons,  none  can  be  considered  worse  than 
that  which  seeks  the  murder  of  the  king  —  of  your  su- 
perior lord  —  and  none  can  be  more  base  than  such  a 
treason,  when  the  king's  death  is  sought  to  be  accom- 
plished by  the  corruption  of  a  servant,  in  whom  the 
king  has  ever  placed  the  greatest  confidence. 


166  THE  POPE   AND  THE  EMPEROK. 

"  Of  such  treason  —  of  such  baseness,  combined  with 
treason,  stands  accused,  one  of  the  highest  rank  amongst 
yourselves  —  Otho,  Duke  of  Bavaria;  and,  to  answer 
that  treason,  Otho  has  been  summoned  here  by  his  ac- 
cuser, Egen  —  my  faithful  servant  —  and  though  not 
the  equal  in  rank  of  Duke  Otho,  yet  a  free-born  man, 
and  whose  claim  to  credit  on  his  oath  none  of  our 
scabini  would  venture  to  reject. 

"  It  is  to  aid  me  in  coming  to  a  proper  decision  upon 
this  cause,  I  have  summoned  you ;  and  the  neces- 
sity for  doing  this  is  the  greater,  as  the  alleged  treason 
is  affirmed  to  be  connected  with  that  spirit  of  insubordi- 
nation which  now  rages  in  Saxony,  and  which  has  al- 
ready manifested  itself  in  the  refusal  to  pay  tithes  to  our 
most  reverend,  exalted,  and  pious  friend,  the  Prince 
Archbishop  of  Mayence." 

The  Archbishop  of  Mayence  smiled  when  he  heard 
these  words.     They  served  to  convince  him  that  Henry 
only  waited  for  the  divorce  to  be  pronounced,  to  com 
mence  collecting  his  tithes  at  the  point  of  the  sword. 

Henry  continued :  — 

"  Egen,  the  accuser,  is  now  here  in  person,  and  pre- 
pared to  sustain  his  charge  —  he  will  do  so,  by  his  oath, 
or  he  is  ready  to  prove  the  justice  of  his  accusation  at 
the  peril  of  his  life,  if  Otho  will  do  battle  with  him. 
He  has  summoned  the  accused  to  this  place.  Is  Otho, 
Duke  of  Saxony,  present  ?  " 

"  I  am  here  to  answer  for  Otho,  Duke  of  Saxony  — 
to  defend  him,  if  it  be  necessary  —  and  to  account  for 
his  absence,  if  required,"  said  Count  Dedi,  advancing, 
and  placing  himself  in  front  of  the  throne  of  Henry,  so 
as  to  be  visible  to  all  parts  of  the  assembly. 

"  Count  Dedi  is  a  very  ardent  friend,"  said  Henry, 


THE  PAELIAMENT  IN  FRANKFORT.  167 

sneeringly;  "but  the  time,  perhaps,  is  not  far  distant 
when  he  may  himself  stand  in  need  of  a  champion." 

"  When  Count  Dedi,"  replied  the  fearless  old  man, 
*'  ceases  to  prove  himself  a  friend  to  those  he  honors,  he 
is  unworthy  to  live  ;  and  he  never  can  want  a  champion 
as  long  as  he  is  able  to  wield  the  sword  which  hangs  by 
his  side,  and  that  has  already  saved  him  from  greater 
dangers  than  a  king's  sneer  or  di  judge's  gibe." 

Henry  turned  pale  with  anger  at  this  public  reproach 
to  himself,  in  forgetting  that,  in  the  office  which  he  was 
then  exercising,  he  was  bound  to  exhibit  the  demeanor, 
if  he  had  none  of  the  spirit,  that  should  characterize  the 
supreme  president  of  a  judicial  tribunal.  He  restrained 
himself,  however,  from  giving  expression  to  his  feelings, 
and,  in  as  calm  a  voice  as  he  could  assume,  he  said,  ad- 
dressing himself  to  Dedi : 

"  Wherefore  does  Otho  refuse  to  appear  before  his 
assembled  peers  ?  " 

"  Otho,  Duke  of  Bavaria,"  replied  Dedi,  "  does  not 
refuse  to  appear  before  his  assembled  peers — he  is  will- 
ing that  his  cause  should  be  tried  by  them ;  but  by 
them  only,  and  by  them .  all ;  and  not  by  a  selection 
made  from  them,  in  which  he  recognizes,  and  I  now  see, 
many  of  his  enemies,  and  few,  if  any,  of  those  either 
disposed  to  be  friendly  towards  him,  or  to  judge  indif- 
ferently between  him  and  his  accusers.  Otho,  like  other 
men  illustrious  by  their  rank,  famous  by  their  deeds,  and 
conspicuous  by  their  riches,  is  well  aware  that  there  are 
many  who  are  his  enemies,  because  they  desire  to  de- 
prive him  of  the  first,  to  obscure  the  second,  and  to  de- 
spoil him  of  the  thii-d.  He  well  knows  that  some  desire 
to  possess  themselves  of  his  dukedom  ;  others  to  tarnish 
his  glory,  which  they  feel  is   a  reproach   to   their  own 


168  THE  POPE   AND   THE  EMPEROR. 

infamy ;  and  a  vast  number  to  plunder  his  property,  and 
to  enrich  themselves  by  the  robbery  of  himself,  his  wife, 
and  their  dependants.  Otho  does  not  refuse  to  be 
judged  by  a  fair  and  impartial  tribunal  —  by  the  princes 
of  the  empire,  assembled  in  a  full  and  solemn  diet  at 
Goslar.  Let  your  Majesty  grant  him  a  safe  conduct,  and 
then  he  will  appear ;  and  then,  upon  such  conditions  as 
the  princes,  his  equals,  may  impose,  he  pledges  himself 
to  refute,  to  their  satisfaction,  fully,  completely,  and 
thoroughly,  the  infamous  charges  that  are  now  preferred 
against  him." 

"  But  wherefore,"  asked  Henry,  "  refuse  the  single 
combat  with  Egen  ?  In  such  a  battle  the  judgment  of 
God,  and  not  the  prejudices  of  man,  to  which  you  refer, 
must  be  the  supreme  arbiter,  and  either  convict  him  of 
guilt,  or  vindicate  his  innocence." 

"  Otho,  Duke  of  Bavaria,  refuses  the  proposed  mo- 
nomachy  with  Egen,"  replied  Dedi,  "  upon  my  advice,  and 
the  counsel  of  other  high  and  illustrious  knights  and 
nobles  ;  and  he  refuses  it,  not  because  Egen  is  his  infe- 
rior in  rank  —  that  which  might  be  a  valid  objection,  if 
he  did  not  know  that  on  one  occasion  King  Louis  d'Ou- 
tremer  tendered  single  combat  to  his  inferior  in  rank, 
Hugh  the  Great ;  and  if  he  had  not  in  our  own  land  the 
example  of  Dietmar,  brother  of  Bernhard,  Duke  of 
Saxony,  upon  an  accusation  similar  to  that  now  preferred 
by  Egen,  engaging  in  single  combat  with  his  own  vassal, 
Arnold.  Otho  refuses  to  cross  his  sword  with  Egen 
upon  this  ground,  and  this  only ;  namely,  that  it  is  not 
equitable,  it  is  not  just,  it  is  not  right,  it  is  not  proper, 
it  is  not  becoming,  it  is  not  even  decent,  to  require  of 
a  man  like  Otho,  one  of  the  most  illustrious  in  the  em- 
pire by  birth,  and  by  rank,  and  still  more  illustrious  by 


THE  PARLIAMENT  IN  FRANKFORT.  169 

his  personal  virtues  —  a  man  of  spotless  flime  and  un- 
blemished honor,  to  place  himself  on  a  level  and  to 
engage  hand-ia-hand  v/ith  one  who  is  nbtoriously  a  base 
and  infiimous  wretch  —  a  villain,  who,  though  it  is  ad- 
mitted, is  a  free-born  man,  is  still  one  who  has  degraded 
himself  by  his  vices,  and  upon  whom,  if  justice  had 
been  done,  the  hangman's  grip  should  long  since  have 
been  laid,  for  his  thefts,  his  robberies,  and  his  career  of 
crime,  into  which  he  is  so  fallen,  that  he  has  become  a 
pander  even  to  the  lusts  of  others.  With  such  a  wretch 
as  Egen,  it  is  deemed  by  Otho,  and  it  is  declared  by  his 
friends,  that  it  would  be  an  infamy  for  any  man,  under 
any  circumstances,  to  recognize  in  him  an  equal  either 
in  the  sight  of  God,  or  of  man.  This  is  Otho's  answer 
at  this  time,  in  this  place,  and  before  such  a  tribunal,  as 
I  now  see  assembled,  to  the  challenge  of  Egen." 

As  these  words  rung  through  the  assembly,  there 
arose  a  loud  murmur  of  indignation  amongst  all  the 
armed  nobles  present ;  for  the  bold  speech  of  Dedi  was 
a  reproach  to  them  as  an  unfairly  constituted  assembly, 
and  yet  there  were  few  of  them,  who,  in  their  hearts,  did 
not  approve  of  Otho's  reasons  for  refusing  the  single 
combat  to  Egen.  It  was  felt  by  all  to  be  a  just  refusal ; 
but  when  men  are  heated  by  passion  they  are  blind  to 
what  is  justice,  and  will  shut  their  ears  even  to  the  voice 
of  truth,  if  both  stand  in  the  way  of  the  gratification 
of  their  revenge.  Some  of  the  armed  counts  were  so 
enraged,  by  the  address  of  Dedi,  that  they  convulsively 
grasped  their  swords,  and  the  rattle  was  heard  for  a 
moment,  as  if  the  iron  scabbards  had  been  shaken. 

Such  sounds  were  familiar  to  the  practised  ear  of  the 
veteran  warrior,  Dedi,  and  the  instant  they  reached  him, 
he  seized  the  scabbard  of  his  own  sword  with  the  left 
15 


170  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

hand,  but  without  touching'  the  hilt  -with,  his  right,  he 
glanced  proudly,  and  defyingly  on  the  entire  assembly, 
seeming  to  run  his  eye  from  rank  to  rank,  as  if  endeav- 
oring to  detect  who  amongst  them  was  the  man  that 
would  prominently  put  himself  forward  as  his  antago- 
nist. 

Dedi  stood  in  this  attitude  for  about  a  minute,  and  as 
he  did  so,  a  breathless  silence  fell  upon  all.  The  rat- 
tling of  steel  ceased,  and  the  miu-murs  of  voices  were 
heard  no  more. 

The  first  to  break  this  silence  was  Henry,  who  said : 

"  Is  there  any  one  in  this  assembly  —  a  freeman  — 
who  will,  with  Count  Dedi,  maintain  the  innocence  of 
Otho,  Duke  of  Bavaria?" 

"  I  am  here  to  do  so,"  exclaimed  a  voice  that  appeared 
to  come  from  the  door-way  of  the  church,  where  a  vast 
multitude  was  collected,  that  the  pikes  of  the  red  schaa- 
ren  prevented  from  pressing  into  the  chiu'ch  in  such 
numbers  as  to  inconvenience  those  who  were  there  as- 
sembled. 

"  Permit  that  man,  whoever  he  may  be,"  observed 
Henry,  "  to  advance  to  the  foot  of  the  throne,  so  that 
all  may  hear  what  he  has  to  allege  on  behalf  of  Otho, 
Duke  of  Bavaria." 

The  crowd  gave  way,  and  there  stood  forth  from  the 
midst  of  them,  the  hardy  forester,  Bernhard,  who  walked 
silently  up  the  long  aisle  of  the  church,  even  until  he 
reached  the  foot  of  Henry's  throne,  and  there  stood, 
unabashed  by  the  multitude  of  rich  men  he  saw  around 
him,  and  unshj-inking  even  before  the  Hushed  brow  and 
the  angry  eye  of  the  king. 

"Who  art  thou,  fellow,"  said  Henry,  impatiently, 
when  he  saw   the  meanly  clad  Bernhard  before  him. 


THE  PARLIAMENT   IN   FRANKFORT.  171 

"  that  thus  intrudest  thyself  upon  the  quarrels  of  other 
men?"       • 

"  I  am  Bernhard,  the  forester  of  Aschaffenburg,"  an- 
swered the  companion  of  the  pilgrhn. 

"Well,"  observed  Henry,  with  his  malignant  sneer, 
"  and  what  can  the  forester  in  Aschaffenburg  know  of 
any  dealings  between  Otho  of  Bavaria  and  my  servant 
Egen  ? " 

"  I  know  this,"  replied  Bernhard,  « that  Otho,  Duke 
of  Bavaria,  is  alike  incapable  of  treason  to  your  Majesty, 
and  of  the  base  means  of  effecting  it,  wherewith  he  is 
charged  by  Egen ;  and  this  I  am  ready  to  prove  by  my 
body  and  my  sword;  I  know  also  that  your  servant 
Egen  is  a  villain  —  a  base  villain  —  I  know,  for  I  have 
been  a  witness  to  what  I  now  state,  that  he,  with  an 
armed  band  of  ruffians,  was  guilty  of  the  forcible  ab- 
duction of  a  maiden  of  surpassing  beauty,  she  who  was 
known  by  the  name  only  of  '  the  white  rose  of  Aschaf- 
fenburg ; '  I  know  that  the  miscreant  who  was  guilty  of 
such  a  crime  is  capable  of  committing  the  lesser  crime 
of  perjury  —  and  these  things  I  am  prepared  to  prove 
by  my  oath,  by  my  body,  and  by  my  sword,  and  hence 
that  single  combat  which  Otho  will  not  give  to  E^-en,  I 
now  tender  to  Egen,  and  here,  in  the  presence  of  your 
Majesty,  and  of  this  diet,  I  brand  him  as  a  recreant,  if 
he  will  dare  to  refuse  it." 

There  were  facts  referred  to  in  this  speech  of  Bern- 
hard,  of  which  it  would  be  difficult  to  say  what  one 
amongst  them  was  the  most  annoying  to  Henry  to  hear 
mentioned  in  that  assembly.  He  found  that  even  there, 
in  that  public  assemblage,  he  was  mixed  up,  (althou"-h 
not  named)  with  the  criminalities  of  Egen,  and  so  unex- 
pectedly did  this  exposure  come  upon  liim,  that  he  was 


172         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROE. 

incapable  of  making  an  observation  upon  the  challenge 
now  publicly  delivered  against  his  confidant  by  Bernhard. 

"Well  —  my  lords  and  princes,"  said  Dedi,  "what 
say  you  —  what  can  you  reply  to  the  challenge  of  Bern- 
hard  ?  If  you  deem  Otho  not  justified  in  refusing  the 
duel  with  Egen  —  how  can  you  sanction  Egen's  refusal 
to  fight  with  Bernhard  ?  " 

"  I  claim  the  right  of  forbidding  it,"  answered  Croft, 
the  new  Bishop  of  Hildesheim,  "  and  I  do  so  on  the 
ground  that  the  cases  of  Egen  and  of  Bernhard  are  not 
at  all  similar.  Egen  is  justified,  by  precedent,  in  claim- 
ing the  right  as  a  free-born  man,  in  a  charge  of  high 
treason,  of  j)roving  that  charge  by  single  combat  against 
one,  even  though  his  superior  in  rank.  Bernhard  claims 
a  similar  right,  but  he  is  not  enabled  to  obtain  it,  and 
that  upon  two  grounds  ;  first,  Bernhard  is  not  the  equal, 
by  birth,  of  Egen,  for  Bernhard  is  not  a  free-born  man 
—  he  is  a  serf  by  birth  —  a  serf  of  the  monastery  of 
Aschaffenburg,  a  man  upon  whom  I  myself  bestowed 
his  freedom  ;  and  secondly,  even  supposing  that  objec- 
tion could  be  waived,  and  I  deem  that  it  is  not  possible  to 
do  so,  then  I  refer  to  the  hundred  and  thirteenth  section 
of  the  Code  of  Bamberg,  to  shoAV  that  except  in  the 
charge  of  high  treason  against  the  king  (that  which 
Bernhard  docs  not  allege  against  Egen,)  the  latter  is 
justified  in  refusing  the  duel  with  him,  and  he  may,  if 
Bernhard  were  to  persist  in  his  accusation,  clear  himself 
of  the  charge  by  the  oaths  of  sworn,  credible,  and  re- 
sponsible compurgators.  Does  your  Majesty,"  said 
Croft,  turning  to  Henry,  "  think  that  I  have  interpreted 
rightly  and  justly  the  customs  and  laws  of  the  empire?" 

*'  Most  rightfully,  most  justly,  and  most  wisely,"  an- 
swered the  king,  bestowing  a  most  gracious  smile  upon 


THE  PAELIAMENT  IN   FRANKFORT.  173 

the  new  titular  Bishop  of  liildesheim  ;  "^  and  sustained 
by  your  interpretation,  I  regard  the  accusation  of  Bern- 
hard,  the  forester,  as  nought.  Begone,  fellow,"  said  the 
king  to  Bernhard,  "  thou  art  treated  with  more  mercy 
than  thou  dost  merit,  when  thou  art  permitted  to  depart 
without  punishment  for  thus  calumniating  my  servant 
Egen." 

Bernhard  gazed  steadily  at  Henry  while  he  was  thus 
rebuked  by  him  as  his  sovereign.  As  soon  as  Henry 
ceased  to  speak,  Bernhard  bowed  his  head,  and  was  turn- 
ing to  depart,  when  Dedi  seized  hold  of  him,  and  spoke 
to  him,  in  a  tone  of  voice  to  be  heard  by  all  present : 

"  Bernhard  —  henceforth  my  friend  Bernhard  —  stir 
not,  for  your  life,  out  of  this  assembly  unprotected  by 
me  and  my  followers.  Here,  neither  you  nor  I  have 
aught  more  to  do  ;  the  manner  in  which  your  accusation 
has  been  disposed  of,  proves  to  me  how  Otho's  appeal 
for  justice  will  be  received.  Have  I,"  said  Dedi,  in  the 
same  tone  of  voice,  and  addressing  the  king,  "  your 
Majesty's  permission  to  depart  ?  " 

"Answer  me.  Count  Dedi,"  said  Henry,  with  a  frown- 
ing brow,  "  but  one  question  more,  and  then  you  are 
free  to  go." 

"  Let  your  Majesty  put  your  question  in  Avhat  form 
you  please,"  observed  Dedi,  "my  answer  shall  be  as 
truly  spoken  as  if  the  next  moment  were  my  last." 

"  Am  I,"  said  Henry,  "  to  understand  that  you  speak 
fully  and  distinctly  the  determination  of  Duke  Otho  of 
Bavaria,  not  to  appear  before  the  assembly  as  it  is  now 
constituted,  and  to  decline  the  proof  by  single  combat 
tendered  by  Egen  ?  that  Otho  will,  in  fact,  not  conde- 
scend to  defend  himself  except  before  a  tribunal  of  his 
own  choosing  ? " 

15* 


174  THE  POPE  AND   THE  EMPEROE. 

"  This  Is  the  answer  of  Otho  to  your  Majesty's  ques- 
tions," replied  Dedi.  ''  I  give  that  answer  as  coming 
from  his  own  lips,  and  in  listening  to  my  voice,  you 
hear  his  words.  Otho  says  this :  he  chooses  no  tribunal 
for  himself —  the  accused,  like  the  accuser,  should  have 
no  choice  as  to  those  by  whom  they  are  tried ;  and  he 
objects  to  appear  before  this  assembly,  because  it  is,  as 
he  believes,  a  tribunal,  not  merely  chosen,  but  culled 
out  for  his  condemnation,  by  those  who  are  his  enemies. 
In  appealing  from  such  a  convocation  to  a  general 
assembly  or  diet,  he  but  exercises  a  right  that  is  vested 
in  him  as  a  duke  charged  with  high  treason.  He  re- 
fuses to  combat  with  Egen,  because  he  conceives,  no 
sentence  —  no  judgment  —  no  condemnation  that  might 
be  pronounced  against  him,  would  entail  upon  him  such 
a  loss  of  honor,  as  that  of  demeaning  himself  for  a  mo- 
ment in  such  a  manner  as  to  treat  Egen  on  an  equality 
with  himself.  Otho,  Duke  of  Bavaria,  despairs  of  re- 
ceiving justice  here  —  Otho,  Duke  of  Bavaria,  has  no 
hope  of  mercy  from  your  Majesty,  if  he  were  once  to 
place  himself  in  your  hands,  and  therefore  he  prefers 
defending  his  own  life  and  lands  with  arms  in  his  hands, 
rather  than  be  basely  butchered  and  unresistingly  robbed, 
if  he  cast  away  from  him,  by  coming  here,  such  means 
of  defence  as  heaven  has  still  left  to  him. 

"This  is  Otho's  answer  to  your  Majesty  —  it  is  his 
declaration  to  this  assembly  —  and  having  now  delivered 
myself  of  both,  I  take  my  leave  of  you. 

"  Come,  Bernhard  —  and  mark,  as  you  go  along,  how 
little  of  honesty,  and  how  scanty  a  share  of  virtue,  may, 
at  times,  be  found  associated  with  coronets  of  diamonds 
and  rich  robes  of  gold." 

So  speaking,  the  proud  Count  Dedi,  and  the  humble 


THE  PARLIAMENT  IN  FRANKFORT.  1.75 

forester,  Bernhard,  walked  out  from  the  midst  of  that 
hostile  assemblage,  not  only  unscathed,  hut  without  as 
much  as  a  single  word  of  insult  pronounced  against  them. 

The  rage  of  Henry,  which  had  been  so  long  sup- 
pressed, burst  forth,  as  those  two  companions  of  Otho 
disappeared.  It  was,  therefore,  in  a  manner  far  differ- 
ent from  that  grave,  judicial  tone  that  he  had  assumed 
at  the  commencement  of  these  proceedings,  that  he  now 
addressed  his  hearers. 

*'  Thus,  my  lords,  princes,  archbishops,  bishops,  ab- 
bots, counts,  have  ye  all  been  outraged,  and  I  insulted, 
by  a  traitor  ;  for  that  Otho,  Duke  of  Bavaria,  is  a  traitor, 
I  am  now  fully  warranted  in  declaring  —  he  who  con- 
tumaciously refuses  to  defend  himself  before  a  properly 
constituted  tribunal,  when  charged  with  a  grave  crime, 
must  be  regarded  as  self-convicted  ;  and  he  whose  trea- 
son is  ready  to  be  proved  by  single  combat,  yet  shrinks 
from  the  test  of  battle,  must  be  considered  as  much  a 
traitor  as  if  he  had  accepted  the  combat,  and  had  been 
defeated  by  his  adversary.  If  it  were  otherwise,  the 
proud  traitor  never  could  be  convicted,  and  the  coward 
traitor  never  be  condemned.  To  you,  then,  I  appeal  for 
that  justice  which  you  are  bovmd  to  render  against  the 
man  thus  self-convicted  of  treason  against  me,  as  well  as 
of  basely  attempting  to  effect  that  treason,  by  seeking  to 
corrupt  my  faithful  servant,  so  that  he  might  have  the 
means  of  depriving  me  of  life. 

"If  other  evidence  beyond  these  facts  —  the  contu- 
macy and  the  cowarcHce  of  Otho  —  now  Avithin  the  knowl- 
edge of  each  and  all  of  you,  be  required,  Egen  is  ready 
to  produce  it,  and,  among  the  rest,  the  sword  of  Attila, 
once  the  property  of  Otho,  bestowed,  by  him,  on  Egen, 
and  now  in  the  possession  of  Count  Rutger." 


176         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROE. 

The  king  ceased  speaking.  The  nobles  rose  in  a 
body,  and  retired  from  the  church.  They  were  absent 
for  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and  then  the  king's 
master  of  the  household,  with  his  golden  wand  of  office 
in  his  right  hand,  arose,  and  said  :  — 

"  This  is  the  doom  of  the  nobles,  princes,  and  counts 
of  the  empire.  We  condemn  Otho,  Duke  of  Bavaria,  as 
one  plainly,  clearly,  and  openly  convicted  of  high  treason 
—  for  that  treason  we  condemn  him  to  death  —  and  to 
death  we  consign  him  whenever,  wheresoever,  or  by 
whomsoever  he  is  apprehended.  This  is  our  doom,  and 
we  pray  your  Majesty  to  sanction  and  enforce  it." 

"  I  approve  it,  and  I  will  enforce  it,"  said  Henry.  "  I 
declare  Otho,  from  this  moment,  deprived  of  the  duke- 
dom of  Bavaria ;  and  I  authqrize  all  who  hear  me,  to 
waste,  with  fire  and  sword,  the  lands  belonging  to  him, 
and  the  persons  who  acknowledge  him  as  their  superior 
lord." 

At  this  moment,  and  before  the  opportunity  was 
afforded  to  Henry  of  giving  utterance  to  anotlier  word, 
there  burst  forth  a  shout  of  joy,  so  loud,  so  vehement, 
and  so  sudden,  that  the  painted  windoAvs  of  the  church 
seemed  to  tremble  in  their  soldered  frames  from  the 
concussion.  To  those  who  sat  within  the  walls  of  the 
church,  it  appeared  as  if  every  inhabitant  of  Frankfort, 
and  the  thousands  in  the  tents  around  it,  had  uplifted, 
at  the  same  instant,  their  voices  in  one  united  acclama- 
tion, and  that  all  combined  together,  came  like  a  thun- 
derclap of  exultation  upon  their  cars.  It  was  a  shout  of 
joy,  in  which  there  appeared  to  be  no  pause,  and  to 
which  there  never  again  would  be  a  cessation,  for  as  it 
was  prolonged,  it  seemed  to  increase  in  vehemence, 
making  the  nerves  of  the   hearers  tremble,  and  com- 


THE  PARLIAMENT  IN   FRANKFORT.  177 

pelllng  them,  by  the  contagion  of  excitement,  to  join  in 
it !  Onward  it  came,  swelling  with  a  louder  roar,  as  if 
that  which  had  first  provoked  it,  was  approaching  nearer 
and  nearer  to  the  building  in  which  the  king  held  his 
parliament. 

King  Henry,  the  archbishop,  bishops,  and  nobles, 
with  every  one  in  the  assembly,  started  to  their  feet,  as 
they  heard  this  tremendous  shout,  and  all  remained 
riveted  to  the  spot  on  which  they  stood,  as  if  astounded 
by  so  vehement  an  outburst  of  popular  joy  and  popular 
enthusiasm.  There  was  no  cry  to  indicate  to  them 
wherefore  it  had  risen,  or  on  whose  behalf  it  was  pro- 
duced ;  but  onward,  onward  still  it  came  to  them,  in- 
creasing in  noise,  and  more  awful  in  its  dizzying  sound, 
and  then — it  ceased  as  suddenly  as  it  began — and  there 
was  a  silence  as  of  death,  as  the  door-way  was  cleared, 
and  the  multitude  outside  were  seen  with  bended  knees, 
and  faces  upturned  with  joy. 

"  Alack  !  alack  !  "  exclaimed  the  Archbishop  of  May- 
ence,  imitating  the  attitude  of  those  who  stood  outside  — 
"  I  see  it  all  —  I  know  now  the  cause  of  this  tumult. 
We  are  lost,  King  Henry." 

"  Good  heavens  !  what  is  it  ?  What  can  it  be  ?  "  in- 
quired the  king. 

"  It  is  the  papal  legate !  The  shouts  were  for  joy 
at  seeing  him  —  the  silence  has  ensued  upon  his  de- 
scending to  the  ground.  See,  the  people  are  crossing 
themselves.  The  legate  is  bestowing  upon  them  his 
benediction. 

"  To  your  knees,"  said  the  Archbishop  of  Mayence, 
"  king,  prelates,  nobles.  Christians  —  to  your  knees,  in 
order  that  our  first  greeting  from  Rome  may  be  a 
benediction  from  his  holiness.     God   grant  we  may  all 


178         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

receive  it  "witli  a  humble  and  contrite  heart.  Kneel  — 
kneel,  all  of  ye.     See,  he  comes." 

*'  The  papal  legate  !  "  muttered  Henry.  "  Curses 
fall  on  whomsoever  has  brought  him." 

"  Then  curse  Dedi  the  younger,"  whispered  "Weren- 
her  in  the  ear  of  the  king. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

THE  RECONCILIATION. 


One  of  the  most  remarkable  men  of  the  eleventh 
century  was  the  papal  legate,  whose  unexpected  and  un- 
looked-for appearance  on  this  occasion,  at  Frankfort, 
produced  so  much  terror  to  the  court,  and  excited  such 
emotion  in  the  parliament  convoked  by  Henry.  This 
papal  legate  was  the  Cardinal  and  Bishop  of  Ostia,  Peter 
Damlan  —  a  poet,  a  philosopher,  a  profound  scholar ; 
an  author,  whose  works  are  still  read  with  admiration 
—  a  man  whose  benevolence  was  boundless,  and  his 
charity  so  great,  that  he  had  been  known  to  part  even 
with  his  pontifical  ring,  when  all  his  other  means  were 
exhausted,  to  procure  money  and  food  for  the  poor  —  a 
man  who  was  most  respected  and  most  feared  by  his 
contemporaries,  on  account  of  his  unceasing  and  un- 
compromising efforts  as  a  Church  Reformer — a  man  so 
Btern  in  his  principles,  that  he  declared  all  ecclesiastics 
to  be  guilty  of  manifold  simony,  who  served  princes,  or 
flattered  them  for  the  sake  of  obtaining  ecclesiastical 
preferments. 


THE  RECONCILIATION.  179 

The  great  vice  of  the  age,  in  which  Peter  Damian 
lived,  was  the  simony  which  infected  churchmen,  and 
that  prevailed  to  such  an  extent,  that  it  had  become  a 
universal  practice  in  Milan,  that  bishops  were  paid  for 
bestowing  ordination  upon  those  who  sought  to  be  ad- 
mitted to  holy  orders.  Against  this  sin  of  simony, 
which  overspread  the  church  as  a  leprosy,  and  that 
brought  with  it  many  other  sins  and  enormities,  Peter 
Damian  arrayed  himself.  He  denounced  it  as  "  a 
heresy,"  and  backed  by  the  power  of  his  superiors,  he 
suppressed  it  completely  in  Milan,  checked  it  in  France, 
aided  in  extirpating  it  from  all  jmrts  of  Italy,  and 
struggled  against  it  in  Germany. 

The  vehemence  of  language  that  Peter  Damian  used 
in  denouncing  a  sin  destructive  to  Christianity,  and  yet 
much  favored  by  men  of  the  highest  rank  in  church  and 
state,  who  profited  by  it,  contrasted  strongly  with  his 
own  great  humility,  with  his  belief  in  his  own  unwor- 
thiness,  with  his  severe  fasts,  and  with  the  bitter  mortifi- 
cations that  he  imposed  upon  himself,  as  a  punishment 
for  what  he  believed  to  be  his  own  sins  ;  for  it  is  stated 
of  him  by  his  biographers,  that  the  ordinary  course  of 
his  life,  when  not  employed  in  discharging  the  duty  of 
'•  Reforming  the  Church,"  so  frequently  confided  to 
him,  by  those  who  had  authority  over  him,  was  as 
follows  :  — 

"  He  lived,"  say  his  biographers,  *'  shut  up  in  his 
cell  as  in  a  prison  —  fasted  every  day,  except  festivals  — 
and  allowed  himself  no  other  subsistence  than  coarse 
bread,  bran,  herbs,  and  water,  and  this  he  never  drank 
fresh,  but  what  he  had  kept  from  the  day  before.  He 
tortured  his  body  with  iron  girdles,  and  frequent  dis- 
ciphnes,  to  render  it  more  obedient  to  the  spuit.     He 


180  THE  POPE   AND   THE  EMPEROR. 

passed  the  three  first  days  of  every  Lent  and  Advent 
without  taking  any  kind  of  nourishment  whatsoever; 
and  often,  for  forty  days  together,  lived  only  on  raw- 
herbs  and  fruits,  or  on  pulse  steeped  in  cold  water, 
without  touching  even  bread,  or  any  thing  which  had 
passed  the  fire.  A  mat,  spread  on  the  floor,  was  his 
bed.  He  used  to  make  wooden  spoons,  and  such  like 
useful  mean  things,  to  exercise  himself  at  certain  hours 
in  manual  labor." 

Such  then  was  the  man  —  so  pious  —  so  "  poor  in 
spirit,"  —  so  great  in  learning  —  so  ardent  in  zeal  — 
so  meek  with  the  humble  —  so  gentle  with  the  contrite 

—  and  so  harsh  with  the  reprobate  —  that  now  appeared 
to  the  horror  of  Sigefrid,  the  worldly  Archbishop  of 
Mayence,  and  to  the  dismay  of  Henry,  the  mighty  and 
the  great  King  of  Germany,  in  the  midst  of  their  as- 
sistant prelates  and  proud  nobles,  collected  together  in 
the  parliament  of  Frankfort. 

The  Bishop  Cardinal  of  Ostia  had  bestowed  his  bene- 
diction upon  the  vast  multitude  assembled  outside  the 
walls  of  the  church,  and  then,  arrayed  in  the  sumptuous 
robes  of  a  "  Bishop-Cardinal,"  the  feeble  old  man,  now 
in  the  seventy-ninth  year  of  his  age,  was  seen  entering 
the  church,  preceded  by  acolytes,  by  priests  in  white 
vestments  —  by  the  bearer  of  a  great  silver  cross,  and 
having  but  one  man  in  armor  in  his  train  —  that  warrior 
was  at  once  recognized  by  all  present  to  be  the  youthful, 
gallant,  and  high-spirited  son  of  Count  Dedi. 

The  bishop-cardinal  passed  up  the  centre  of  the  church 

—  now  so  still  and  silent,  and  lately  so  agitated  by  ve- 
hement passions,  that  the  men  who  now  lowly  bent  to 
receive  his  blessing,  appeared  not  to  be  the  same  vindic- 
tive, rash,  and  angry  individuals  that  were  ready  to 


THE  RECONCILIATION.  181 

tliro-w  themselves,  a  short  time  before,  sword  in  hand, 
upon  Count  Dedi,  and  cut  him  to  pieces,  for  daring  to 
reproach  them  with  their  subserviency  to  King  Henry. 

The  benediction  of  the  papal  legate  was  bestowed,  and 
then  all  arose  ;  and,  as  they  did  so,  Peter  Damian,  touch- 
ing with  his  aged,  pale,  and  withered  cheek,  the  bloom- 
ing, fresh-colored  cheek  of  the  youthful  monarch,  be- 
stowed upon  him,  that  which,  in  the  language  of  church- 
men, is  designated  "  the  kiss  of  peace." 

A  strange  sight  it  was  to  behold  them  thus  —  even 
though  it  were  but  for  a  single  instant  —  brought  in 
immediate  and  direct  contact  with  each  other  —  so  great 
a  saint  and  so  great  a  sinner,  as  Peter  Damian  and  Henry- 
The  one  had  passed  from  youth  to  age,  and  now  stood 
upon  the  verge  of  the  grave,  so  chastising  his  body,  and 
so  checking  and  controlling  all  his  passions  and  his  in- 
clinations, that  he  was,  even  whilst  on  earth,  an  almost 
spriritualized  being  ;  whilst  the  other,  indulged  by  others 
from  infancy,  and  yielding  himself  a  prey  to  every  ca- 
price, had  become,  even  though  still  young,  an  animal 
in  his  passions,  and  worse  than  an  animal,  because  to 
gratify  those  passions  he  employed  the  devices,  and  re- 
sorted to  the  practices,  of  a  clever  and  an  unscrupulous 
man. 

"  Your  Majesty  will  perceive,  by  the  rescript  I  have 
-now  the  honor  of  placing  in  your  hands,  that  all  the 
reasons  you  have  alleged  for  desiring  to  put  an  end  to 
the  marriage  with  the  Queen  Bertha,  have  been  fully, 
deliberately,  and  anxiously,  considered,  by  his  holiness. 
These,  I  believe,"  said  Peter  Damian,  handing  a  parch- 
ment to  King  Henry,  "  contain  all  the  facts  and  all  the 
arguments  on  which  you  rely,  for  the  dissolution  of  your 
marriage.  I  have  some  reason  for  supposing  they  are 
16 


182  THE  POPE  AND   THE  EMPEROR. 

those  upon  -whicli  the  Prince  Archbishop  of  Mayence 
intended  to  rely,  in  pronouncing  a  judgment  in  favor  of 
your  jNIajesty.  He  could  not,  I  beUeve,  put  them  in  a 
stronger  light  than  they  are  here  set  forth." 

Henry  and  the  Archbishop  of  Mayence,  at  the  same 
moment,  fixed  their  eyes  on  the  papal  legate,  in  the  hope 
they  might  discover  in  his  countenance  some  indication 
of  his  feelings  upon  a  point  in  which  both  were  so  deep- 
ly interested.  They  looked  in  vain,  for  the  face  of  the 
old  man  was  as  pale,  as  passive,  and  as  free  from  every 
emotion  as  if  it  were  that  of  a  marble  statue.  They  then 
examined  the  parchment  that  had  been  placed  in  their 
hands.  Henry's  face  flushed  with  joy  as  he  read  it,  and 
the  archbishop  felt  delighted  as  he  perused. 

"  My  reasons,"  whispered  the  archbishop  to  Henry, 
"  could  not  have  been  placed  in  a  stronger  light  than 
they  are  here  set  down.  I  cannot  understand  how  it  is ; 
but,  most  assuredly,  this  document  has  anticipated  all 
that  I  could  have  said." 

"  And  it  contains,"  whispered  Henry  to  the  arch- 
bishop, "  all  that  I  wished  to  have  said."  And  he  mut- 
tered involuntarily,  to  himself,  "  And  it  contains,  too, 
much  more  than  I  could  have  proved." 

The  legate  waited  patiently  —  absolutely  unmoved, 
until  the  document  had  been  carefully  conned  over.  He 
then  said  — 

*'  Docs  any  new  fact  or  argument  occur  to  you,  that 
your  Majesty  would  desire  to  have  added  to  what  is 
there  set  down  for  you  ?  " 

"  No  —  none,"  replied  Henry.  "  I  am  perfectly  con- 
tent with  it,  and  I  am  sure  that  upon  such  a  case  I  shall 
have  a  just,  fair,  and  impartial  decision  made  by  his 
holiness." 


THE   RECONCILIATION.  183 

"  Of  that  your  Majesty  may  well  feel  assured,"  replied 
tlie  legate,  "  for  his  holiness  feels  as  anxious  for  your 
temporal  and  eternal  happiness  as  if  you  were  his  son  — 
his  love  for  you  is  greater  than  that  of  a  father  for  his 
child ;  for  he  is  well  aware  that  your  IMajesty  has  it  in 
your  power  to  confer  innumerable  blessings  upon  that 
Christendom  of  which  he  is,  on  this  earth,  the  spiritual 
father." 

"  And  the  holy  father  may  henceforth  reckon  upon 
me  as  the  most  devoted  of  his  kingly  sons.  In  the 
document  I  have  now  read,  I  have  the  proof  he  has  con- 
sidered and  attached  their  due  weight  to  all  those  con- 
scientious scruples  that  influence  me  in  seeking  a  divorce 
from  her  who  has  been  but  in  name  my  Avife." 

''  The  holy  father  has  done  so,  for  he  considers  him- 
self in  this  case  responsible  for  your  immortal  soul  to 
God,"  answered  Peter  Damian.  "  He  has  deemed  the 
facts  you  state  to  be  so  important,  that  he  has  instituted 
a  rigid  inquiry  into  them." 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Henry,  "  inquired  into  the  valid- 
ity of  facts  alleged  by  me  to  be  true  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Peter  Damian,  in  the  same  unmoved 
attitude,  and  the  same  calm  tone  of  voice ;  "  for  he  is 
aware  that  kings  are  but  men  —  that  as  men  they  are 
liable  to  be  mistaken ;  and  that  as  men  they  Avill  be 
judged  hereafter.  He  has  examined  into  the  facts,  and 
he  has  found  them  disproved,  every  one,  by  the  clearest 
evidence  —  and,  among  the  rest,  by  the  evidence  of  the 
Empress  Agnes,  your  mother,  and  of  Queen  Bertha, 
your  wife.  Here  are  the  facts  as  set  forth  by  you,  with 
the  proofs  that  they  are  directly  contradicted  by  the 
oaths  of  those  who  had  the  opportunity  of  having  full 
cognizance  of  the  truth." 


184  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

So  spealdng,  Peter  Damian  handed  another  parchment 
to  Henry  and  the  Archbishop  of  Mayence.  The  first 
merely  glanced  through  it  —  the  latter  read  it  attentive- 
ly, and,  as  he  did  so,  he  was  seen  to  tremble,  as  if  he 
were  shaken  with  an  ague-fit. 

"  Then  what,  may  I  ask,"  said  Henry,  impatiently, 
"  is  the  decision  to  which  the  pontiff  has  come  ?  " 

"  His  Majesty,  King  Henry  of  Germany,"  observed 
Peter  Damian,  here  raising  his  voice,  and  ad-dressing 
himself  to  the  entire  assembly,  "  is  pleased  to  demand 
of  me  what  is  the  decision  of  his  holiness  with  respect 
to  his  Majesty's  demand  that  the  marriage  contract  be- 
tween him  and  the  Princess  Bertha,  of  Italy,  be  dissolved. 
His  Majesty  admits  that  the  reasons  in  support  of,  and 
in  opposition  to  his  demand  have  been  fully  and  mature- 
ly considered,  and  I  have  now,  in  the  name,  and  on 
behalf  of  the  supreme  pontiff",  to  pronounce  publicly, 
as  I  am  so  directed  by  his  holiness,  the  judgment  in 
this  case. 

"  The  pontiff"  considers  *  that  a  marriage  has  been 
legally,  fully,  and  rightfully  solemnized  between  his 
Majesty  King  Henry  and  the  Queen  Bertha  —  that  it  is 
a  marriage  in  every  way  unimpeachable,  and  therefore 
indissoluble  ;  and  that  to  seek  for  the  dissolution  of  such 
a  marriage,  or  to  permit  it  to  be  dissolved,  would  be 
pernicious,  contrary  to  morality,  and  an  act  worthy 
of  execration  by  every  man  who  bears  the  name  of  a 
Christian. 

"  Tlje  pontiff",  moreover,  in  giving  this  decision,  pub- 
licly appeals  to  King  Henry,  that,  supposing  he  was  to 
set  the  laws  of  man  at  defiance,  and  to  trample  upon  the 
canons  of  the  church,  by  putting  an  end  to  a  lawful 
marriage,  he  should  at  lea^t  have  some  regard  for  the 


THE   RECONCILIATION.  185 

estimation  in  which  he  is  to  be  held  now,  and  his  fame 
in  all  future  time;  and  this,  too,  lest  the  evil  example, 
of  seeking  divorces,  thus  given  by  a  king,  should  be 
hereafter  imitated,  and  Christendom  contaminated  with  a 
new  crime,  of  which  he  should  stand  forever  accursed 
as  the  inventor  and  the  originator. 

"  The  pontiff,  in  conclusion,  declares  that  he  never  will 
with  his  hands  bestow  consecration  as  an  emperor  upon 
King  Henry  —  if  Henry  as  king  should,  by  persisting 
in  a  divorce  from  his  wife,  so  far  betray  the  faith  that 
binds  him  as  a  Christian,  and  thus  afford  so  pestilent  an 
example  to  othei-s. 

"  This  is  the  judgment  of  the  pontiff  in  your  Majes- 
ty's cause  —  this  the  pontiff's  appeal  to  you  —  this  the 
pontiff's  declaration  of  the  course  he  will  himself  adopt, 
supposing  that  you  should  contemn  his  judgment,  and 
pay  no  regard  to  his  appeal. 

"  With  the  declaration  and  expounding  of  the  judg- 
ment of  his  holiness,  I  am  instructed  also  to  say,  that 
my  functions  as  a  pontifical  legate  cease. 

"  Having  discharged  myself  of  that  duty  —  I  no 
longer  stand  before  your  Majesty  the  representative  of 
a  sovereign  prince  ;  but  I  pray  that  you  will  forget  that 
I  am  a  cardinal  —  that  I  am  a  bishop  —  that  I  am  any 
thing  more  than  a  humble  and  an  obscure  monk,  who 
has  been  ordered  by  his  superior  for  a  few  days  to  quit 
his  cell,  and  who  has  reluctantly,  although  readily, 
obeyed  that  order,  to  be  the  bearer  of  a  message  to  the 
mightiest  and  the  greatest  king  in  the  world. 

"  I  pray,  then,  of  your  INIajesty  to  deign  to  Hsten  to 

the  words  of  a  humble  monk  of  the  desert  hermitage  of 

Font-Avellano  —  of  Peter  Damian,  who  now  kneels  at 

the  feet  of  your  Majesty,"  —  (and,  as  he  spoke  these 

16* 


,186  THE  POPE   AND   THE  EMPEROR. 

"Words,  the  feeble  old  man  knelt  before  the  proud  sov- 
ereign) —  "and  who  does  so  to  seek  for  no  favor  from 
you,  but  this  —  that  you  will  have  compassion  on  — 
yourself ;  that,  discarding  your  inclinations,  and  morti- 
fying your  propensities,  you  will  permit  your  conscience 
to  be  heard,  and  religion  to  pour  her  saving  counsels 
into  your  ear  —  that  you  will  yield  obedience  to  the 
church,  which  tells  you  that  you  must  cleave  to  your 
own  wife,  and  that  those  whom  God  has  joined  no  man 
can  put  asunder. 

"  Rjsceive  —  O,  receive  again  to  your  heart,  your  true, 
fond,  faithful,  and  devoted  wife.  Bertha  —  restore  her 
to  your  affections,  and  deem  all  others  of  her  sex  as  un- 
deserving of  a  moment's  contemplation ;  for  she  alone 
is  your  wife  ;  and  he  who  is  a  husband,  should  esteem 
all  other  women  but  as  his  mother,  his  sister,  or  his 
daughter. 

"  This  is  my  prayer  to  you  —  it  is  but  the  prayer  of 
an  old  man  —  but  remember  it  is  the  prayer  of  one, 
from  whose  sight  this  world  is  fast  disappearing  ;  of  one, 
upon  whom  it  can  bestow  no  reward,  and  to  whom  it 
can  offer  no  temptation  —  that  it  is  the  prayer  of  one, 
who  may  be  regarded  as  speaking  from  his  grave ;  for  a 
grave  is  all  that  even  you  —  potent  prince  as  you  are  — 
could  now  bestow  upon  the  poor,  feeble,  aged  Peter 
Damian. 

"  My  only  prayer  to  your  Majesty  is,  that  you  obey 
the  church,  in  becoming  reconciled  to  your  wife  Bertha. 

"  And  ye,  O,  brother-bishops,  fellow-priests,  and 
mighty  dukes,  counts,  and  nobles,  I  beseech  of  you  to 
imitate  my  example.  Cast  yourselves  with  me  at  the 
feet  of  your  sovereign,  and  pray  of  him  that,  for  the 
good  of  mankind,  whom  his  example  must  influence. 


THE  EECONCILIATION.  187 

and  for  his  soul's  sake,  that  should  be  more  dear  to  hhn 
than  his  kingly  crown,  that  he  will  comply  with  your 
request,  as  well  as  mine,  by  becoming  openly  and  cor- 
dially reconciled  with  your  queen  —  the  good  and  vir- 
tuous Bertha." 

The  times  that  we  are  attempting  to  describe  were 
times,  as  we  have  already  intimated,  in  which  there 
were  great  vices  ;  but  they  were  also  times  in  which 
there  was  great  faith  —  times  in  which  an  appeal,  com- 
ing from  an  old  man  (famous  for  his  personal  virtues, 
and  of  whose  disinterestedness  no  one  ever  entertained 
a  doubt),  could  not  be  made  without  being  responded 
to.  Hence  it  happened,  that  no  sooner  had  Peter  Da- 
mian  ceased  to  speak,  than  all  the  members  of  the  diet 
were  seen  prostrate  before  the  throne  of  Henry,  and  all 
exclaiming,  as  if  with  one  voice  : 

"  Amen  !  amen  !  to  the  prayer  of  the  bishop-cardinal. 
We  beseech  the  king  to  be  reconciled  to  Queen  Bertha." 

These  words  were  as  the  points  of  daggers  in  the 
flesh  of  Henry,  they  came  upon  him  at  a  moment  when 
he  felt  assured  of  the  full  success  of  that  divorce  wdiich 
he  had  passed  years  in  concocting  ;  and  they  now  rushed 
upon  him  as  the  hurricane  does  upon  the  frail  cane-con- 
structed cottage,  shivering  it  into  atoms,  and  rendering 
all  chance  of  its  re-erection  with  the  same  materials  an 
utter  impossibility. 

Henry,  in  his  despair,  when  he  heard  himself  so  ad- 
dressed by  those  whom  he  knew  to  be  his  surest  friends, 
because  in  all  matters  his  most  compliant  adherents, 
threw  himself  back  in  his  throne,  covered  his  face  with 
his  imperial  robes,  and  wept  —  wept  those  bitter  tears 
which  wicked  men  shed  when  they  find  that  their  plots 
are  bafiled,  and  their  passions  thwarted — tears,  that  as 


188  THE  POPE   AND  TEE  EMPEROR. 

they  fall  bring  no  relief  to  the  heart,  but  seem  as  drops 
of  fire,  from  which  spring  forth  the  hell-born  demons, 
hatred,  malice,  and  vengeance,  against  all,  and  upon  all, 
who  have  contributed  to  their  defeat  and  disappoint- 
ment. 

Henry  rose  from  his  throne,  and  with  the  voice  and 
manner  of  a  man  who  has  been  told  unpleasant  tidings, 
and  has  determined  to  bear  them  vrith  patience,  he 
said  — 

'*  I  pray  of  you,  most  reverend  Cardinal,  and  Bishop 
of  Ostia,  to  rise  from  your  knees  —  it  is  not  fitting  that 
one  so  old  should  bow  down  before  one  so  young  as  I 
am  —  it  is  not  becoming  that  one  so  pious  should  kneel 
to  one  so  frail  —  and  you,  too,  my  reverend  prelates  and 
loving  subjects,  I  pray  you  all  to  resume  your  places, 
and  listen  to  the  words  of  your  sovereign. 

"  It  would  be  hypocrisy  in  me,  if  I  were  to  say  that 
the  decision  which  Rome  has  come  to,  with  respect  to 
the  divorce  I  sought,  is  not  only  a  grievous  disappoint- 
ment, but  a  severe  trial  to  my  feelings.  I  admit  —  I 
avow  that  it  is  so.  If  it  were  not,  there  would  be  little 
merit  in  my  compliance  with  the  prayer  you  have  made 
to  me. 

"  With  that  request  it  is  my  intention  to  comply.  I 
will  comply  with  it,  not  merely  outwardly,  but  thor- 
oughly. You  have  asked  mc  to  become  reconciled  to 
my  queen.  I  shall  do  so  ;  for  it  is,  I  conceive,  the  duty 
of  a  king  to  yield  assent  to  the  prayers  of  liis  loyal, 
loving,  and  devoted  subjects  —  even  though  his  so  doing 
may  be  the  cause  of  much  affliction  to  himself. 

"  In  asking  me  to  be  reconciled  to  Bertha,  you  place 
a  heavy  yoke  upon  my  shoulders  ;  but  I  submit  to  it, 
and  will  bear  it  as  best  Lean.     You  yourselves  shall  be 


THE   RECONCILIATION.  189 

the  witnesses  how  perfect  that  reconciliation  can  be 
made. 

"  In  obedience  to  my  orders,  Queen  Bertha  now 
awaits,  in  the  oratory,  the  decision  of  the  bishops.  I 
desire  that  my  trusty  vassal,  Dedi  the  younger,  may 
conduct  her  from  thence  into  the  church.  I  send  to  her 
one,  who  will,  I  am  sure,  be  most  ivclcome  to  her." 

An  almost  imperceptible  smile  curled  the  lip  of 
Henry,  as  he  accented  these  words.  It  was  not  per- 
ceived by  any  other  than  the  keen  eye  of  Peter  Damian. 
It  induced  the  papal  legate  to  approach  Henry,  and  to 
whisper  in  his  ear  these  words  — 

"  I  pray  your  Majesty's  pardon  ;  but  I  feci  bound  to 
tell  you,  that  I  fear  you  are  not  acting  with  that  sincerity 
you  profess.  Remember,  that  you  stand  in  the  church 
of  God,  and  that  of  all  sinners  those  who  have  the  least 
chance  of  ever  attaining  to  the  grace  of  sincere  repent- 
ance, are  those  who  would  mock  heaven  with  hypocrisy. 
For  your  own  sake  beware ;  better  defy  the  church 
openly,  than,  by  seeking  to  delude  it,  deliver  yourself 
over  irrevocably  to  perdition.  It  is  not  in  reproach,  but 
in  pure  love  to  you,  I  say  this." 

"  Most  excellent  man  ! ''  replied  the  smiling,  and  ap- 
parently grateful  Henry,  "  I  know  not  how  to  thank 
you  for  the  anxious  care  you  have  for  my  salvation.  I 
feel  assured  that  it  is  in  the  purest  charity  you  sjieak  to 
me  ;  but  be  you  now  yourself  the  judge  of  my  sinceri- 
ty. Here  comes  our  Queen  Bertha  —  sec,  if  there  be 
aught  to  censure  in  my  demeanor  towards  her.  If  there 
be,  I  am  sure  you  will  point  out  the  error  ;  and  I,  for 
my  part,  shall  endeavor  to  amend  it." 

As  Henry  spoke  thus  he  descended  the  steps  of  the 
throne,  and  proceeded  to  meet  Bertha,  as  she  advanced. 


190         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEEOE; 

with  trembling  steps,  and,  from  sheer  -weakness  and 
emotion,  clung  for  support  to  the  arm  of  her  conductor, 
the  younger  Dedi. 

Bertha,  clothed  in  a  robe  of  black,  destitute  of  every 
ornament,  and  her  head  covered  Avith  a  thick  black  veil, 
ascended  the  steps  of  the  throne,  aided  by  her  husband. 
As  soon  as  both  had  reached  the  topmost  steps,  he 
placed  the  queen  on  the  throne  which  he  had  so  lately 
occupied,  whilst  he  himself  remained  standing  by  her 
side. 

There  was  complete  silence  in  the  church  whilst  all 
this  was  passing  ;  and  there  was  terror  in  the  hearts  of 
those  who  knew  Hemy  best,  lest  this  silence  should  be 
but  a  prelude  to  some  scene  of  horror. 

The  silence  was  so  chilling,  that  it  appeared  terrible 
even  to  those  who  might  be  regarded  as  indifferent  spec- 
tators. What,  then,  must  have  been  its  effect  upon  the 
poor  queen,  who  was  alone,  in  that  multitude  of  terrified 
men,  and  who  found  all  eyes  fixed  upon  her  ! 

Henry  beckoned  the  Archbishop  of  Mayence,  and 
then  Werenher  to  his  side,  and  whispered  a  few  words 
in  the  ear  of  each.  The  last  was  seen  to  leave  the 
church ;  the  archbishop,  it  was  remarked,  brought  from 
the  high  altar  a  rich  coronet'  composed  of  amethysts. 

The  silence  still  continued  unbroken  ;  but  when  the 
archbishop  had  returned  to  the  side  of  Henry,  the  latter 
thus  addressed  the  assembly  : 

*'  My  loving  friends  and  faithful  subjects,  you  are  all 
now  aware  that  I  made  an  appeal  to  the  church  with  re- 
spect to  my  doubts  as  to  the  validity  of  my  marriage 
with  the  Princess  Bertha  of  Italy ;  and  expecting  that 
the  decision  upon  that  appeal  would  be  publicly  de- 
livered this  day,  I  desired  that  her  Majesty  should  be 


THE  RECONCILIATION.  191 

here,  in  order  that  both  might  yield  obedience  to  it, 
whatever  it  might  be.  Had  the  church  decided  for  my 
divorce,  I  would  have  called  upon  her  Majesty  to  submit 
to  it ;  and  I  am  well  aware  that,  so  great  is  her  piety, 
and  so  paramount  to  all  other  considerations  her  child- 
like obedience  to  the  church,  that  she  would  have 
done  so. 

"  I  have  now,  my  loving  friends  and  faithful  subjects, 
to  give  you  the  proof  that  what  in  the  one  case  I  ex- 
pected from  her  Majesty,  I  have  now,  in  the  other,  my- 
self to  perform.  The  church  has  declared  that  my 
scruples  are  vain  —  that  my  marriage  is  valid,  and  that 
it  is  my  duty  to  become  publicly  reconciled  to  my  wife. 

"  She  is  here  that  I  may  do  so.  With  my  own  hands 
I  have  placed  her  on  my  own  throne  —  and  doing  so,  I 
acknowledge  that  if  virtue  unimpeachable,  morality  that 
is  unquestioned,  purity  that  would  become  a  convent, 
and  goodness  that  is  unchangeable,  could  bring  happi- 
ness to  a  crown,  and  joy  to  a  married  king.  Bertha  pos- 
sesses all  those  qualifications  in  a  preeminent  degree. 

"  In  your  presence,  and  before  all  the  world,  I  ac- 
knowledge her  as  my  queen,  and  as  my  wife,  and  I  now 
bid  you  all  to  repeat  the  words  wherewith  I  greet 
her :  —  God  save  Queen  Bertha,  the  wife  of  Henry  IV., 
King  of  Germany  !  " 

For  the  first  time,  the  solemn  and  mournful  silence 
that  had  prevailed  in  the  church  was  broken  by  the 
cheer  that  now  burst  out  from  all  sides,  as  each  one 
present  repeated,  and  apparently  with  a  hearty  good 
will,  the  words  — 

"God  save  Queen  Bertha,  the  wife  of  Henry  IV., 
King  of  Germany  ! " 

"  And  now,"  continued  Henry,  *'  it  is  not  fitting  that 


192  THE  POPE   AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

she,  M'hom  the  brave  and  -vvarhke  race  of  Germans  ac- 
knowledge as  their  queen,  shoukl  conceal  her  counte- 
nance from  them.  It  is  right  that  they  should  behold 
that  beauteous  face,  which  is  henceforth  to  reward  the 
best  deeds  of  their  gallant  knights  with  a  gracious 
smile." 

As  Hemy  spoke  these  words,  he  removed  the  thick 
dark  veil  which  had,  up  to  this  moment,  shaded  the  fea- 
tures of  Bertha ;  and,  as  he  did  so,  all  (but  Henry) 
were  shocked  at  beholding  the  bloodless,  corpse-like  face 
of  the  queen  —  rendered  still  more  pale  and  ghastly  by 
the  ebony  ringlets  that  shaded  it,  and  by  the  expression 
of  terror  and  of  fear  that  was  in  the  eye,  and  on  her 
trembling  lips.  But  why  was  Queen  Bertha,  at  such  a 
moment,  a  spectacle  for  men  to  commiserate,  when  it 
might  be  supposed  that  her  brilliant  dark  eyes  would 
have  sparkled  with  pleasure  at  being  thus  publicly  rec- 
ognized as  the  rightful  wife  and  lawful  queen  of  Henry  ? 
It  is  a  matter  easy  of  explanation.  Bertha,  as  the  wife 
of  Henry,  knew  him  well.  Whilst  his  words  were 
pleasant  to  the  ear  of  others,  and  his  voice  full  of  those 
sweet  tones  that  seemed  to  be  the  echo  of  truthfulness 
and  candor.  Bertha  had  looked  into  his  eyes,  and  she 
saw  that  there  was  not  in  them  one  single  sparkle  of  re- 
turning affection  for  her  —  that  her  husband  was  but 
acting  a  part  —  and  that  he  actually  exposed  her  face  to 
the  view  of  his  subjects,  at  that  moment,  for  the  mere 
purpose  of  impressing  their  minds  with  the  notion  of 
her  being  an  ill-favored  woman,  and  thus  entitling  him- 
self to  greater  admiration  and  respect,  for  consenting,  in 
obedience  to  the  commands  of  the  church,  to  take  her 
back,  and  treat  her  as  his  wife. 

Such  were  the  reflections  that  passed  through  the 


THE   RECONCILIATION.  193 

mind  of  Bertha,  or  rather,  such  were  the  feelings  that 
oppressed  her  heart ;  that  sent  such  an  icy  chill,  like 
that  of  death,  through  every  limb ;  and  that  deprived 
her,  for  the  moment,  of  all  those  personal  charms  with 
which  nature  had  gifted  her. 

Henry  rejoiced  to  behold  her  look  so  unlike  herself, 
and,  determined  to  add  to  her  embarrassment,  he  took 
the  amethyst  coronet  from  the  Archbishop  of  Mayence, 
and  again  addressed  the  assembly : 

"  I  rejoice  to  find  the  wife,  and  the  queen,  that  our 
holy  mother,  the  church,  has  thus,  in  its  goodness,  be- 
stowed upon  me  so  cordially  greeted,  and  so  loyally 
hailed  by  my  loving  friends  and  faithful  subjects.  Her 
Majesty,  in  her  humility,  and  awaiting  the  decision  of 
the  church,  has,  I  perceive,  with  her  own  hands,  disar- 
rayed herself  of  that  diamond  circlet  that  denoted  her 
royal  rank.  Given  back  to  the  king  by  religion,  it  is 
but  fitting  that  religion  should  supply  her  Avith  a  crown, 
and  that  her  husband's  hands  should  place  that  crown 
upon  her  fair,  meek,  and  gentle  brow." 

So  speaking,  Henry  placed  upon  the  queen  the  coro- 
net of  amethyst,  a  species  of  jewelry  that  he  well  knew 
Bertha  disliked,  as  one  most  unsuited  to  her  naturally 
dark  skin  ;  but  which  now,  shining  out  from  her  jet 
black  hair,  and  contrasting  with  her  corpse-like  com- 
plexion, assumed  the  appearance  of  dark  drops  of  blood 
that  were  oozing  from  her  brain. 

The  efiect  was  far  different  from  that  which  Henry 
had  intended.  He  had  thus  purposed  to  make  his  wife 
look  ugly ;  but  there  was  such  sufiering,  such  sorrow, 
and  such  grief  displayed  in  every  feature  ;  and  those 
so  truly  typified  by  the  coronet  he  had  bestowed  upon 
her,  and  she  appeared  beneath  his  hand  so  truly  that 
IT 


194  THE  POPE  AND   THE  EMPEROR. 

•which  she  was  —  a  young,  faithful,  and  virtuous  wife, 
made  a  martyr  by  her  husband  —  that  an  unrestrainable 
burst  of  pity,  and  of  admiration  for  her,  saluted  his  ears 
£fom  all  parts  of  the  church. 

Henry  looked  again  at  Bertha.  He  at  once  discovered 
the  mistake  he  had  made  ;  for  he  perceived  that  he  had 
converted  the  hateful  form  of  his  wife  into  the  living 
image  of  one  of  the  young  female  martyrs,  in  the  early 
ages  of  the  church,  before  whom  even  the  devout  might 
kneel,  and  beg  the  intercession  of  her  prayers.  Henry 
determined,  if  it  were  possible,  to  remove  this  impres- 
sion, or  to  convert  it,  if  he  could,  to  his  own  advantage, 
and  he  therefore  continued  to  address  the  assembly :  — 

*'  I  have  now  fulfilled  the  directions  of  the  church. 
I  have  openly  acknowledged  Bertha  as  my  queen  —  I 
have  become  publicly  reconciled  to  her  as  my  wife  — 
but  I  have  not,  as  yet,  indulged  my  own  feelings,  by 
showing  how  readily,  how  willingly,  and  how  heartily 
I  submit  to  that  decision.  It  was  upon  a  scruple  of 
conscience  I  alone  separated  from  her :  that  scruple  is 
now  removed,  and,  be  ye  all  now  witnesses,  with  what 
tender  love,  and  with  what  devoted  affection  I  now  re- 
ceive her  back,  to  treat  her  with  all  the  love,  tenderness, 
devotion,  and  affection  that  a  fond  husband  should  ever 
show  for  a  true-hearted,  tender,  and  virtuous  wife." 

As  Henry  spoke  these  words,  he  stooped  down,  and 
kissed  the  hands,  the  cheeks,  and  the  lips  of  his  still 
trembling  wife.  No  sooner  did  those  assembled  behold 
Henry  thus  embracing,  with  such  seeming  affection,  his 
queen,  than  there  arose  a  hearty,  joyous  cheer  from  all, 
with  the  cry  : 

"  Long  life  and  happiness  to  our  good  King  Henry 
and  the  virtuous  Queen  Bertha." 


THE  EECONCILIATION.  195 

"  King  Henry,"  said  Peter  Damian,  "  I  must  now 
take  my  leave  of  you.  I  have  fulfilled  my  mission.  I 
am  bound  to  state  to  his  holiness  that  you  have  strictly 
and  literally  complied  with  his  judgment  —  that  you  have, 
as  a  king  and  as  a  husband,  given  that  example  which 
becomes  your  exalted  rank  and  high  position  in  this 
•world,  by  restoring  your  wife  to  a  throne,  which  she 
adorns  with  the  virtues  of  a  saint.  Love  her  as  a  wife, 
and  as  a  friend,  and  I  can  predict  to  you  a  life  of  hon- 
or-, and  the  death-bed  of  the  just.  I  will  not  warn  you, 
as  to  what,  not  only  may,  but  certainly  will  befall  you, 
if  you  act  otherwise  ;  because  to  do  so,  would  be  to  sup- 
pose that  you  would  condescend  to  deceive  a  weak,  old 
man  like  me,  and  such  devoted  subjects  as  I  see  before 
me.  I  give  to  you,  to  your  wife,  and  to  all  present,  the 
apostolical  benediction  ;  and  in  doing  so,  I  venture  to  sug- 
gest, that  all  here  present  should,  with  myself,  depart, 
so  that  you  and  the  queen  may,  alone,  and  before  the 
high  altar  of  this  church,  renew  your  marriage  vow  ;  that 
you  there  bind  yourselves  each  to  the  other,  to  '  love, 
honor,  and  cherish,'  the  wife  the  husband  and  the  hus- 
band his  wife,  so  that  the  days  of  both  may  be  days  of 
peace  and  virtue,  and  the  last  hours  of  both  be  crowned 
with  the  blessing  of  immortality. 

"  Farewell,"  said  Peter  Damian.  "  Farewell  to  your 
Majesties,  and  to  alL  As  to  you.  Prince  Archbishop  of 
Mayence,  it  is  necessary  I  should  speak  with  you  in  pri- 
vate. I  am  now  repairing  to  the  mansion  of  Count  Dedi. 
Will  you  do  me  the  favor  of  accompanying  me  ?  " 

"  I  obey  your  wish  as  if  it  were  a  command,"  replied 
Sigefrid. 

When  the  cardinal  legate  and  the  Archbishop  of 
Mayence  had,  with  their  attendants,  quitted  the  church. 


196  THE  POPE  AND   THE  E3IPER0R. 

Henry  turned  to  the  prelates  and  the  nobles  who  re- 
mained, and  said : 

"  That  which  the  holy  bishop-cardinal  has  suggested 
is  just.  Queen  Bertha  and  I  will  remain  here.  As  to 
you,  my  friends,  you  may  depart  each  to  his  own  home ; 
for  I  desire  that  you,  bishops  as  well  as  nobles,  should 
meet  me  this  day  month  at  Goslar.  A  rebellion  is  about 
to  break  forth  in  Saxony,  which  it  will  require  all  the 
military  strength  of  the  empire  to  suppress. 

"  Farewell,  then,  until  we  meet  at  Goslar,  when  I 
shall  require  that  each  man  will  bring  with  him  all  the 
knights  and  warriors  wherewith  he  is  bound  to  appear 
before  his  king,  when  engaged  in  an  enterprise  pregnant 
with  danger  and  beset  with  difficulty.     Farewell." 

In  a  few  minutes  afterwards  the  crowded  church  was 
cleared,  and  where  numbers  had  before  been  seated  or 
stood,  not  one  was  visible. 

The  great  door  of  the  church  was  then  closed,  and  the 
soldiers  of  the  king  stood  around  it,  on  the  outside,  as 
guards,  so  that  no  stranger  might,  unquestioned,  ap- 
proach its  walls. 

In  the  church  there  was  no  one  but  King  Henry  and 
Queen  Bertha.     They  were  alone  —  quite  alone  ! 


CHAPTER    XV. 

THE    SEPARATION. 


Henky  and  Bertha  were  quite  alone.     Beneath  the 
eyes  of  both  were  the  deserted  benches  so  lately  occu- 


THE   SEPARATION.  197 

pled  by  prelates  and  princes,  and  around  them,  on  every 
side,  the  various  chapels  of  different  saints,  with  their 
marble  altars,  their  rich  ornaments,  and  their  gilded  pic- 
tures ;  with  here  and  there  a  statue  of  a  martyr ;  whilst 
in  front  of  them  Avas  the  high  altar,  dazzling  from  the 
precious  stones  that  covered  its  tabernacle,  and  before 
which  the  burning  lamps  demonstrated  that  it  contained 
that  which  is  more  precious  than  all  the  kingdoms, 
crowns,  and  principalities  of  this  world.  To  the  believ- 
ers of  those  times  that  burning  lamp,  before  the  taberna- 
cle, was  an  indication  that  they  were  in  the  presence  of 
One  before  whom  every  human  passion  should  be  hushed, 
to  whom  the  repentant  sinner  might  flee  with  confi- 
dence and  hope,  and  by  whom  the  whole  race  of  man- 
kind shall  yet  be  judged. 

Such  was  the  faith  of  Bertha,  the  wife  of  Henry  — 
such,  too,   was    his  faith,  but  with  this  distinction  be- 
tween them,  that  her  fliith   guided  her  conduct,  and  he 
buried  his  faith  beneath  his  passions. 

The  first  act  of  both  on  this  occasion  proved  how  dif- 
ferently their  faith  influenced  them.  No  sooner  had  the 
great  door  of  the  church  been  closed,  and  the  solemn  si- 
lence that  ensued  convinced  Henry  and  Bertha  thrt  they 
were  perfectly  alone,  than  she  rose  from  the  throne  in 
which  she  had,  until  that  moment,  remained  seated,  and 
descending  the  steps,  she  advanced  in  front  of  the  altar, 
and  then,  fixing  her  eyes  upon  the  tabernacle,  she  spoke 
a  prayer  that  was  not  heard  on  this  earth,  but  that  ascend- 
ed as  a  song  of  triumph  to  heaven  ;  for  it  was  the  prayer 
of  one,  who  accepted  her  trials  with  humility,  and  who 
devoutly  submitted  to  all  the  sufferings  she  might  en- 
dure as  offerings,  which  it  was  the  divine  will  she  should 
make,  and  that  she  readily  tendered,  because  it  was  in 
17* 


198         THE  rOPE  AND  THE  EMPEEOR. 

the  order  of  Providence  that  they  should  be  undergone. 
Despised  and  even  mocked  at  by  her  husband,  she  de- 
clared, in  her  prayer,  that  she  would  still  struggle  to 
win  hiin  back  to  herself,  and  to  virtue ;  and,  should 
misfortune  overtake  him,  and  the  world  abandon  him, 
then  prove  to  him,  that  she  —  the  repudiated  wife  — 
was  his  steadiest  supporter,  his  only  consoler,  and  his 
most  devoted  friend. 

Bertha  lived  to  know  that  a  portion  of  the  prayer  she 
then  made  was  permitted  to  be  realized,  as  far  as  she 
herself  was  concerned. 

Henry,  the  moment  that  the  church  was  given  up  to 
perfect  solitude,  and  that  he  knew  there  was  none  but  God 
to  witness  the  interview  between  him  and  Bertha,  flung 
himself  down  upon  the  throne-Uke  seat  that  had  been 
erected  for  his  friend  the  Archbishop  of  Mayence. 
Galled  by  disappointment,  heated  and  fatigued  by  the 
exertion  he  had  made  to  conceal  the  bitterness  of  his 
spirit,  and  disgusted  even  with  himself  for  his  hypocri- 
sy, and  the  falseness  that  there  had  been,  both  in  his 
words  and  actions,  when  human  eyes  were  looking  at 
him,  there  came  over  his  spirit,  and  over  his  body,  that 
sickening  feeling  of  all-absorbing  lassitude  that  fre- 
quently besets  the  popvdar  actor,  when  he  has  over-ex- 
cited himself  in  some  great  histrionic  performance.  His 
hopes  of  a  divorce  from  Bertha,  and  of  a  marriage  with 
Beatrice,  were,  he  saw,  forever  blasted  ;  and  they  were 
so,  through  the  instrumentality,  he  perceived,  of  his 
mother,  of  Bertha,  of  Dedi  the  younger,  and  of  Rome. 
'J'herc  was  no  joy  left  for  him  but  that  of  vengeance  — 
and  vengeance  he  swore  he  would  have  upon  them  all. 
The  daily  alHiction  in  his  power  to  cause  his  mother  and 
his  wife,  he  resolved  should  become  a  life-long  punish- 


THE  SEPARATION.  199 

ment  to  botli ;  tlie  life  of  the  younger  Dedi  he  resolved 
upon  taking  ;  whilst,  as  to  Rome  —  as  to  the  Pope  of 
Rome,  he  believed  that,  in  Croft,  the  new  Bishop  of 
Hildesheiin,  he  had  discovered  the  ready  and  the  fitting 
instrument  for  carrying  out  his  revenge. 

Such  were  the  desperate  projects  that  were  passing 
confusedly,  and  in  a  semi-diaphanous  form,  through  the 
brain  of  Henry  ;  bearing  with  them,  though  not  yet  dis- 
tinctly traced  out,  tears,  afflictions,  blood,  and  misery  to 
those  he  detested  ;  because  his  wishes  had  been  thwarted, 
and  his  schemes  baffled  by  them.  In  his  parching  thirst 
for  vengeance  he  forgot  the  place  in  which  he  stood,  and 
that  his  wife  was  by  his  side.  He  was  aroused  from  his 
revery,  by  feeling  her  hands— -cold  as  the  marble  on 
which  she  had  been  so  lately  kneeling  —  clasping  one 
of  his,  by  hearing  her  voice,  and  by  perceiving  her  meek 
eyes  looking  up  to  him. 

"  Well,  Bertha,"  he  said,  snatching  his  hand  rudely 
from  her  grasp,  as  if  there  was  contamination  in  her  touch, 
"you  have  succeeded  —  you  have  triumphed  over,  and 
you  have  punished  me." 

"  Punished  you,  Henry !  I  know  not  what  you  mean," 
said  Bertha. 

"  Ay  !  punished  me,"  observed  Henry  ;  "  visited  me 
with  a  punishment  far  more  severe  than  any  other  that 
earth,  heaven,  or  hell  could  afflict  me  with  —  the  pun- 
ishment of  having  to  acknowledge  you  as  my  wife." 

"  O,    Henry,  Henry ! "    plteously  exclaimed    Bertha, 

"  Nay,  worse  than  that,"  continued  the  remorseless 
king;  "condemned  mc  —  the  church  has  condemned 
me  —  to  live  as  a  husband  with  you." 

"  Listen  to  me,  Henry,  listen  to  me  calmly  ;  for  I  will 
not  give  you  back  taunt  for  taunt.     Remember  these 


200  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROB. 

three  things  :  that  you  are  a  king,  that  you  are  a  knight, 
that  you  are  a  man ;  that  as  a  king  you  have  sworn  an 
oath  that  you  would  be  the  protector  of  your  subjects. 
I  am  the  first  of  these  subjects :  be  then  my  protector. 
Keraember  that,  as  the  head  of  the  Swabian  knighthood, 
you  are  bound  to  permit  no  man  who  bears  a  shield, 
sword,  or  spear,  to  injure  a  woman,  be  she  maiden,  or 
wife,  or  widow.  And,  O,  bear  in  mind  you  have  wooed 
me  as  a  maiden  ;  and  that  though  your  wife,  I  have, 
even  in  your  palace,  passed  my  days  in  the  desolation  of 
widowhood.  As  a  knight  of  Swabia  I  appeal  to  you, 
against  yourself.  And  O,  Henry,  remember  that  you 
are  a  man,  and  I,  who  now  stand  by  your  side,  am  your 
wife  —  a  stranger  in  a  land  of  strangers.  Protect  me, 
then,  Henry  ;  or,  if  you  will  not  do  so,  spare  me  your 
taunts,  for  I  dare  not  retort  upon  you ;  and  do  not  cast 
upon  me  your  reproaches,  for  I  have  not  deserved 
them." 

"  What !  not  deserved  them  !  "  exclaimed  Henry,  mak- 
ing now  no  disguise  of  the  furious  rage  that  inflamed 
him.  "  Have  you  not  appealed  to  the  pontiflf  against  my 
claim  for  a  divorce  ?  " 

"  I  did  so,"  meekly  answered  Bertha,  "  because  I 
could  not  in  conscience  consent  to  see  you  do  that  which 
would  have  involved  the  commission  of  many  sins." 

"  O,  your  conscience,"  sneeringly  remarked  Henry, 
"  Avould  not  permit  you  to  see  yourself  divested  of  the 
state,  pomp,  and  dignity  of  a  queen,  even  though  you 
knew  that,  as  my  wife,  you  were  most  odious  to  me." 

"  You  wrong  me,  Henry,"  replied  Bertha,  "  How 
little  I  care  for  the  state  and  dignity  of  a  queen  I  have 
already  shown  ;  for,  from  the  first  moment  that  I  heard 
you  contemplated  a  divorce,  I  divested  myself  of  every 


THE  SEPARATION.  201 

vestige  of  royalty,  and  I  have  since  lived  in  the  humble 
garb  of  a  religious  —  the  life  to  which  I  would  have  de- 
voted myself,  had  your  suit  been  successful.  I  opposed 
the  divorce  for  your  sake,  and  for  my  own ;  for  your 
sake,  because  it  could  only  be  obtained  by  perjury  —  an 
awful  sin  —  in  the  guilt  of  which,  you  know,  I  would 
be  as  completely  involved,  by  a  criminal  silence,  as  by  a 
criminal  assent.  I  opposed  the  divorce,  then,  on  that 
ground  ;  and  next,  because  I  was  aware  that,  if  obtained, 
it  would  have  led  you  to  other,  and  greater  sins  —  a  sac- 
rilegious marriage  and  a  life  of  adultery  with  the  pure 
and  incoiiiparable  Beatrice." 

Henry  started,  when  he  heard  that  name  pronounced 
by  the  lips  of  Bertha.  He  made  no  observation,  howev- 
er ;  and  Bertha  proceeded. 

"  I  opposed  the  divorce,  also,  on  my  own  account  — 
as  necessary  to  prove  that  I,  a  princess  of  a  royal  race, 
was  unimpeachable  in  my  conduct  both  as  a  maiden  and 
as  a  wife.  This  much,  at  least,  I  owed  to  the  parents 
who  gave  me  life  ;  and  this  much  I  owed  to  God,  who 
had  permitted  me  to  be  baptized  a  member  of  his 
church.  You  say,  that  I  am  odious  to  you  as  a  wife. 
Wherefore?  If  it  be  that  I  am  divested  of  personal 
beauty,  I  cannot  but  approve  your  judgment  —  but  that 
I  am  now,  such  as  I  was  when  you  accepted  me  as  your 
wife,  and  when  you  vowed  before  God  and  man  to 
'  love  '  me.  And,  Henry,  dear  Henry  !  I  know  you  did 
love  me  once  —  but,  0,  it  was  for  too  brief  a  period. 
And  pardon,  Henry,  a  Avoman's  vanity  ;  but  I  cannot 
avoid  saying  that  I  have  seen  more  than  one  of  these 
wicked  women  on  whom  you  have  bestowed  your  af- 
fections, that  even  I  could  not  conceal  from  myself  were 


202        THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROE. 

as  far  my  inferiors,  in  personal  cliarms,  as  they  were  in 
virtue." 

"  Ah  !  there  it  is,"  cried  the  brutal  Henry.  "  It  is 
that  very  virtue  of  which  you  boast  that  renders  you 
odious  to  me.  Why  is  it  that  you  now  approach  me  — 
that  you  seek  to  clasp  my  hand  —  that  you  would,  if  I 
permitted  it,  fondle  upon  me  —  not  because  you  love 
me,  as  those  women,  you  allude  to,  love  me  — for  my- 
self. You  do  all  these  things,  because  your  virtue,  of 
which  you  boast,  urges  you  to  do  it  —  because  it  is,  you 
conceive,  your  duty  —  because  religion  commands  it. 
As  a  king,  and  as  a  man,  I  am  hateful  to  you  —  as  odi- 
ous to  you,  as  you  are  to  me  —  but  as  your  husband,  you 
will  perform  the  part  of  a  ivife,  and  all  this  in  cold  obe- 
dience to  the  commands  of  the  church.  Therefore,  I 
repeat  it  again  —  as  a  wife  you  are  odious  to  me." 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  CARDINAL. 

"  Brother  of  Mayence,"  said  Peter  Damian,  when 
he  and  Sigefrid  were  alone,  "  I  have  already  stated  that 
the  special  mission  on  which  I  was  so  hastily  sent  to 
Frankfort  has  been  fulfilled ;  but  still  I  cannot  depart 
from  Germany  without  communing  Avith  you,  upon  the 
deplorable  state  to  which  our  holy  religion  is  described 
as  being  reduced  by  the  ambition  and  the  avarice  of 
churchmen.     Brother,   if  that   which  is   stated  to   his 


THE  ARCHBISHOP   AND  THE   CARDINAL.  203 

holiness  be  true,  he  bids  me  warn  you  that  you  are  but 
a  slothful  shepherd,  for,  either  seeing  the  crimes  of  your 
brethren,  you  wink  at  them^  or  by  your  tepidity  neglect 
them. 

"  I  need  not  tell  one  of  your  learning  what  the  crime 
of  simony  is  —  that  it  consists  in  placing,  as  it  were, 
that  which  is  a  temporal  advantage  in  the  same  balance 
with  that  which  is  wholly  a  divine  thing  ;  that  it  regards 
the  one  as  an  equivalent  for  the  other  ;  that  it  bestows 
the  one  to  obtain  the  other,  as  if  wealth  were  a  compen- 
sation for  a  spiritual  gift.  To  do  this,  you  must  declare, 
with  me,  to  be  a  profanation." 

"  Assuredly,"  said  Sigefrid,  "  no  one  can  accuse  me 
of  simony  —  no  one  can  ever  say  of  me,  that  I  have  re- 
ceived money  for  bestowing  any  offices  in  the  church." 

"  No,"  replied  Peter  Damian,  "  no  such  charge  is 
preferred  against  you.  No  one  has  accused  you  of  a 
direct  participation  in  such  a  sin  ;  but  this  is  obvious  — 
this  is  notorious  to  the  world  —  this  cannot  be  denied 
by  you  —  that  you  hold  one  of  the  highest  offices  in  the 
church  of  Germany,  and  yet,  I  ask  you,  what  is  the  state 
of  that  church  over  which  you  may  be  said  to  preside  ? 
You  possess  great  influence  with  the  king.  I  ask  you, 
how  you  have  employed  it  ?  Have  you  tendered  the 
slightest  remonstrance  to  his  Majesty,  who  has  robbed 
the  church  to  reward  his  military  followers  ?  And  then 
I  ask  you  —  who  has  been  appointed  as  the  successor  of 
Meginward  ?  Is  it  not  the  Abbot  of  Bamberg  —  the 
notorious  '  Robert  the  Eich  ? '  And  how  did  he  obtain 
that  appointment  ?  was  it  not  by  paying  into  the  king's 
treasury  a  thousand  pounds  in  pure  silver  ? 

"  Simony,  the  crime  of  this  age,  is  the  sin  of  the  rich 


204  THE  POPE   AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

against  the  poor  —  it  is  the  robbeiy  of  the  poor  by  the 
rich  —  of  the  most  poor  by  the  most  rich  —  of  the 
most  humble  by  the  most  exalted  —  of  the  meanest  in 
rank  by  the  highest  —  of  the  slave  by  the  king  !  So 
feels  the  Pope  —  so  feel  the  people. 

"  Look,  I  say,  to  the  state  of  the  church  in  Germany, 
of  which  you  are  a  prince  and  an  archbishop.  See  the 
evils  which  one  wicked  man  alone,  Robert  the  Rich,  has 
been  able  to  effect ;  how  he  has  corrupted,  dishonored, 
and  vitiated  what  was  formerly,  and  might  still  be,  the 
holy  and  angelic  lives  of  monks  ;  how,  owing  to  his  pes- 
tilent example,  monks  arc  no  longer  esteemed  in  Germany 
by  their  great  virtues,  but  by  their  great  wealth ;  and 
that,  in  the  choice  of  abbots,  the  inquiry  is  not,  '  Who  is 
the  most  worthy,'  but  '  Who  is  the  most  rich,'  and  '  Who 
can  pay  the  highest  price  for  the  mitre ! '  Is  it  not,  and 
I  blush  to  be  obliged  to  ask  you  the  question,  is  it  not  a 
matter  of  public  notoriety,  that  the  office  of  abbot  is  set 
up  for  sale  in  the  king's  palace,  and  bestowed  upon  hira 
who  can  pay  the  most  money  for  it  ?  I  tell  you,  brother, 
this  is  a  sin  that  must  be  suppressed,  and  a  scandal  that 
must  be  reformed ;  and  the  pontiff  has  resolved  upon 
exterminating  it  utterly  out  of  the  bosom  of  the  church, 
and  woe  to  those  Avho  oppose  him !  and  woe  to  you,  Sig- 
efrid.  Archbishop  of  Maycnce,  if  you  decline  to  aid,  or 
shrink  from  cooperating  with  him." 

"  I  thank  you,  brother,  I  thank  you  heartily,"  said 
Sigcfrid,  deeply  moved  by  the  appeal  thus  made  to  him. 
"1  admit  that  I  have  been  remiss  —  that  I  have  not  had 
that  zeal  that  should  have  animated  one  holding  my  po- 
sition, and  invested  with  the  great  privileges  that  have 
been  confided  to  me.     In  this  case,  believe  me,  my  sin 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND  THE  CARDINAL.      205 

has  been  that  of  omission,  and  not  of  commission.  But 
then,  brother,  look  with  compassion  upon  the  frailties  of 
another  —  frailties  that  in  my  case  arise  from  a  natural 
timidity  of  disposition ;  a  timidity  that  unfits  me  from 
denouncing  the  sins  of  the  great,  and  of  condemning  the 
crimes  of  those  I  am  in  the  habit  of  associating  with." 

"  That  is,  in  point  of  fact,"  observed  Peter  Damian, 
"  telling  me  that  you  think  you  could  save  your  soul  in 
a  cloister,  but  that  there  is  every  certainty  you  will  lose 
it  as  Archbishop  of  Mayence." 

"  I  fear  that  you  give  but  a  proper  interpretation  to  my 
words,"  said  Sigefrid. 

"  Then  w4iy  continue  Archbishop  of  Mayence ;  why 
not  choose  the  life  of  a  monk,  where  you  believe  salvation 
awaits  you  ? "  asked  Peter  Damian. 

"Ay — Avhy  not!"  said  the  archbishop,  animated  for 
the  moment  with  an  ardent  zeal.  "  Why  not  think  of 
my  eternal  salvation  !  Why  not  prefer  it  to  all  the  fleeting 
grandeur,  and  evanescent  greatness  of  this  world  '  " 

"  Ay  —  why  not,  indeed  ?  "  whispered  Peter  Damian. 

"  Why  not,"  continued  Sigefrid,  "  why  not  leave  behind 
me  the  reputation  of  a  saint  ?  Why  not  be  thought  of  as 
one  who,  born  to  noble  rank,  and  possessed  of  the  greatest 
office  in  the  church,  next  to  that  of  the  Pope  —  yet  turned 
away  from  a  palace,  with  all  its  luxuries  —  from  a  cathe- 
dral rich  with  countless  treasures  —  from  trains  of  knights 
and  a  nation  of  dependent  serfs  —  why  not  be  remembered 
with  reverence  by  mankind,  for  abandoning  all  those 
things  to  become  a  bare-footed,  meanly-clad,  ill-fed  monk  ! 
Why  not  at  once  do  this  !  " 

"  Alas  !  "  sighed  Peter  Damian,  as  he  noticed  what 
"were  the  motives  that  were  influencing  Sigefrid  to  descend 
to  the  condition  of  a  monk. 
18 


206         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

**  "Why  not,"  exclaimed  Sigefrid,  still  enthusiastically, 
"  why  not  fly  from  the  vices,  and  the  temptations  of  this 
"world,  and  bury  one's  self  far  away  from  them  in  the  quiet 
and  repose  of  a  convent !  in  some  monastery  of  Italy  — 
some  monastery  that  is  not  exposed  to  the  burning  heats 
of  summer,  nor  the  chilling  frosts  of  winter,  but  where 
there  are  green  trees,  and  fresh  flowing  waters,  and  where 
the  rules  are  not  too  rigid  for  an  old  man,  so  delicately 
nurtured  as  I  have  been,  to  conform  to.  Yes,  I  will  go 
to  a  monastery ;  but  not  to  your  monastery  of  Font-Av- 
ellano,  brother  Peter  Damian;  for  there,  I  am  told,  the 
austerities  practised  are  almost  beyond  the  limits  of  human 
endurance." 

"Alas,  alas  !  "  exclaimed  Peter  Damian,  "you  admit 
yourself  to  be  unfitted  for  discharging  the  onerous  duties 
that  belong  to  the  Archbishopric  of  Mayence,  and  you 
are,  I  fear,  as  much  unsuited  for  a  monastery." 

"  How  say  you,"  said  Sigefrid,  "  unsuited  for  a  mon- 
astery !  Wherefore  ?  I  pray  you,  brother ;  tell  me  where- 
fore, when  I  declare  to  you,  that  I,  though  a  prince  and 
an  archbishop,  am  this  very  moment  desirous  to  become 
a  humble  monk." 

"  Permit  me  to  look  at  your  crosier,"  said  Peter  Da- 
mian. 

Sigefrid  placed  his  crosier  in  the  hands  of  the  poor 
cardinal  legate.  It  was  a  wonderful  piece  of  workmanship ; 
one  of  those  rich  articles  in  which  the  costliness  of  the 
materials  is  surpassed  by  the  skill  of  those  who  have 
devoted  a  lifetime  to  its  embellishment ;  in  which  dia- 
monds, rubies,  amethysts,  and  amber,  are  conv^ted  into 
portions  of  subjects  illustrative  of  the  designs  of  the  artists 
that  use  them.  Valuable  from  the  intrinsic  worth  of  the 
jewelry  and  gold  encrusted  upon  it,  it  was  of  priceless 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  CARDINAL.      207 

value  as  a  complete  ai'tistic  gem,  tliat  from  one  end  to 
the  other  pictured  forth  the  life  and  death  of  the  first 
Archbishop  of  Mayence  —  the  saint  and  martyr,  Boniface. 

Peter  Damian  appeared  to  examine  it  with  great  interest 
and  curiosity,  and  as  he  did  so,  a  glow  of  pleasure  warmed 
the  breast  of  Sigefrid. 

"  I  remember  to  have  read,"  said  Peter  Damian,  "  I 
think  it  was  in  the  works  of  Saint  Gregory  of  Tours,  of  a 
foolish  practice  that  prevailed  in  his  day,  of  young  persons, 
who  being  desirous  of  manifesting  their  attachment  and 
regard  for  one  another,  did  so  by  sending  as  gifts  the 
shoes  that  they  wore.  A  worthless  present,  but  still 
esteemed,  because  demonstrative  of  a  sincere  feeling.  If 
you  love  me,  and  respect  me,  I  would  wish  you  to  make 
me  some  such  donation." 

"  Willingly,  dear  brother,"  cried  Sigefrid,  "  name  what 
you  please,  and  I  will  bestow  it  on  you." 

"  When  the  holy  abbot.  Saint  Benedict,"  continued 
Peter  Damian,  "  desired  to  show  his  love  and  esteem  for 
any  particular  person  or  religious,  he  sent  him  as  a  gift, 
his  crosier,  or  pastoral  staff.  Do  you  the  same.  Give 
me  this  crosier." 

"  That  crosier  !  "  cried  Sigefrid,  turning  pale  at  such  a 
proposition.  "  Tru.ly,  brother,  you  have  so  given  up 
your  thoughts  to  spiritual  things,  that  you  do  not  know 
the  value  that  attaches  to  temporal  goods.  That  crosier 
is  the  richest  and  the  most  costly  that  ever  yet  was  formed. 
Constantine,  amid  the  many  treasures  he  bestowed  upon 
Pope  Sylvester,  gave  him  no  one  thing  in  itself  worth  one 
tithe  of  that  crosier.  I  had  that  crosier  made  for  myself, 
as  Archbishop  of  jNIayence ;  it  is  only  suitable  for  an 
Archbishop  of  Mayence  to  bear,  for  it  is  devoted  solely 
to  the  illustration  of  the  glorious  labors  of  our  patron. 


208         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROK. 

/Saint  Boniface.  I  have,  from  my  own  means,  crowded 
the  cathedral  of  Mayence  with  crosses  of  gold,  with  chal- 
ices, candelabras,  thurifers,  all  of  the  purest  metal  —  I 
have  covered  its  tabernacles  with  precious  stones  —  I  have 
j&lled  its  library  with  books  that  are  richly  illuminated, 
and  still  more  richly  bound  —  I  have  deposited  in  its 
vestry  vestments  of  matchless  splendor — and  all  this  I 
have  done,  intending  to  bequeath  each  and  all  those  things 
to  my  successors  in  the  archbishopric  ;  but  beyond  them 
all,  because  greater  and  richer  than  all,  will  be  esteemed 
as  the  grandest  heirloom  of  each  coming  future  Arch- 
bishop of  Mayence,  that  very  crosier.  With  that  intention 
I  had  it  made ;  and  for  that  purpose  I  had  it  constructed. 
Ask  me,  then,  for  any  thing  but  that  crosier,  for  that  I 
cannot  give  to  you." 

"  Alas,  brother,"  said  Peter  Damian,  "  you  have  an- 
swered me  as  I  expected,  and  as  I  feared.  Your  reply 
shows  me  that  you  are  not  suited  to  a  monastery,  or  that 
if  you,  in  a  sudden  gush  of  rash  zeal,  were  to  enter  within 
the  monastic  walls,  you  would  but  remain  there  a  very 
few  days,  and  this  because  your  heart  still  clings  to  the 
dross  of  this  world.  I  will  not  say  that  I  put  this  ques- 
tion to  you  merely  to  test  your  sincerity ;  for  I  candidly 
tell  you,  that  if  you  had  answered  my  question,  not  as  I 
feared,  but  as  I  wished,  then  I  would  have  accepted  the 
crosier  from  your  hands,  and  knowing  its  value  well  — 
to  the  golden  crown,  I  dare  say  as  well  as  you  do  —  yet, 
once  it  was  mine,  I  would  have  tried  your  patience  sorely, 
for  I  would,  with  a  cdmmon  hatchet,  and  before  your  own 
eyes,  have  taken  and  broken  it  to  pieces." 

"  What,  broken  up  this  crosier  !  "  cried  Sigefrid,  clasp- 
ing it  to  his  heart,  "  broken  up  this  precious,  this  inval- 
uable, this  exquisite,  this  matchless  piece  of  art ! " 


THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE   CARDINAL.  209 

'*  I  would  have  done  so,"  replied  Peter  Damian  •  "for 
precious  as  it  is,  I  regard  it  but  as  filth,  when  compared 
to  the  value  of  one  immortal  soul.  I  would  have  broken 
it  up,  and  having  done  so,  I  would  have  restored  the 
fragments  to  your  hands,  that  you  might  sell  them,  and 
whatever  the  proceeds  might  have  been,  desired  you  to 
bestow  them  upon  the  poor,  in  order  that  they  might 
pray  that  your  spirit  might  be  freed  from  an  attachment 
to  the  vanities  of  this  world.  Ah,  brother,  it  is  not  to  do 
honor  to  the  meek  and  humble  Saint  Boniface  that  you 
have  emblazoned  his  acts  in  gold  and  jewelry  upon  this 
crosier  —  it  is  to  do  honor  to  yourself;  for  whilst  seeming 
to  venerate  his  virtues,  you  have  been  but  a  self-idolater 
—  seeking  to  perpetuate  your  name,  not  in  heaven,  by 
good  deeds  done  in  secret,  but  amongst  men  —  amongst 
generations  that  pass  away,  and  that,  as  they  pass,  are  too 
much  absorbed  in  their  own  vices,  to  remember  those  who 
have  passed  before  them,  and  especially  those  who  have 
fixed  their  fame  in  the  accumulation  of  riches.  The  thief 
that  steals  this  crosier,  will^ear  away  with  him  the  fleeting 
glory  for  which  Sigefrid,  the  wealthy  Archbishop  of  May- 
ence,  lost  heaven  !  " 

"Brother — brother  —  you  astonish  me,"  exclaimed 
Sigefrid,  in  amazement.  "  Can  it  be,  that  you,  who  have 
passed  your  life  on  the  steps  of  the  sanctuary  —  disapprove 
of  what  I  have  done  —  of  bestowing  all  my  wealth  upon 
the  enrichment  and  the  adornment  of  the  altars  ?  " 

"  Alas  !  you  misapprehend  me,"  replied  Peter  Damian, 
"  because  you  do  not  know  yourself  "Why  is  it  that  the 
church  approves  of  the  adornment  and  the  enrichment  of 
the  altar  ?  It  is  because  that  men  should  offer  up  to  him, 
who  is  the  giver  of  all  things,  that  which  is  in  their  eyes 
the  most  rich  and  the  most  costly  of  his  gifts  :  that  what 
18* 


210         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

might  be  an  incitement  to  vanity,  may  tlius  become  an 
inducement  to  piety :  that  God  should  be  most  honored 
in  that  place  which  he  has  himself  selected  as  his  favorite 
dwelling  amongst  mortals  ;  and  that  whilst  our  eyes  are 
dazzled  by  seeing  the  glory  that  invests  him  here  on  earth, 
our  thoughts  may  be  elevated  to  the  greater  glories  that 
surround  him  in  heaven,  and  of  which  we  shall  be  par- 
ticipators, if,  whilst  on  earth,  we  endeavor  to  imitate  his 
example.  The  lapidaries  fancifully  ascribe  to  different 
stones  different  qualities ;  that  is,  they  regard  those  stones 
as  emblematic  of  various  virtues,  and  even  so  a  diamond 
cross,  a  jewelled  tabernacle,  may  become  a  worthy  subject 
of  meditation,  and  may  incite  us  to  chastity,  to  temperance, 
to  meekness,  to  humility,  to  charity.  The  adornment  of 
the  altar,  by  gifts  of  great  value,  is,  in  itself,  a  pious  act. 
As  such,  I  approve  of  it ;  but  in  your  case,  I  do  not  ap- 
prove of  the  motive  ;  for  it  is  vanity  —  it  is  a  craving 
desire  after  the  praise  of  men  —  not  a  pure  desire  for  the 
honor  and  glory  of  God  alone." 

"  Then,"  said  Sigefrid,  sortbewhat  impatiently,  "  what 
would  you  say  to  me  if  I  devoted  that  wealth,  which  I 
now  consecrate  to  the  church  —  to  the  enrichment  of  my 
own  family,  or  to  the  indulgence  of  my  own  appetites." 

"  I  would,"  replied  Peter  Damian,  "  declare  you  to  be 
a  flagrant,  an  abominable,  and  a  sacrilegious  sinner  —  a 
Judas,  who  betrayed  his  trust  —  I  would  denounce  you 
to  the  pontiff,  and  I  would  do  my  utmost  to  have  you 
excommunicated  —  I  would  treat  you,  as  I  mean  to  treat 
Robert  the  Rich." 

"  And  I  would  deserve  it,"  despondingly  remarked 
Sigefrid.  « It  may  be,  that  in  what  I  have  been  doing, 
I  have  l)ocn  deceiving  myself —  that  in  performing  what 
I  knew  to  be  right,  I  have  not  guarded  myself  from  per- 


THE  AECHBISHOP  AND   THE   CAEDINAL.  211 

mltting  it  to  be  mixed  up  witli  no  human,  and  no  selfish 
motive.     I  shall  endeavor  to  amend  this  fault." 

"  Endeavor  too,  I  beseech  you,"  said  Peter  Damian, 
"endeavor  to  amend  a  still  greater  fault  —  that  of  luke- 
warraness  in  the  cause  of  religion.  Power  and  authori- 
ty have  been  given  to  you — exercise  them,  for  the 
future,  in  the  protection  of  the  poor  and  the  weak,  and 
in  opposition  to  the  wicked,  the  powerful,  and  the  great. 
Dare  not,  if  you  would  not  incur  the  penalties  of  eternal 
damnation,  to  lay  your  hands  in  consecration  upon  the 
head  of  any  man,  of  whose  purity,  in  every  respect,  and 
of  whose  fitness  for  the  priesthood  you  have  not,  first  by  a 
searching  and  diligent  inquiry,  been  thoroughly  assured. 
Stop,  thus,  at  the  fountain  head,  those  corrupting  waters 
that  have  overspread,  and  almost  submerged,  religion, 
in  so  many  parts  of  Germany.  Do  this,  and  though 
your  name  may  be  forgotten  by  manlcind,  as  that  of  the 
rich  Archbishop  of  Mayence,  yet  be  assured  that  the 
good  you  thus  do  will  be  remembered  when  this  world 
is  annihilated  —  and  those  only  shall  be  living,  whose 
virtues  have  saved  them  from  eternal  death." 

"  Yes  —  yes  —  this  I  will  do,  at  least.  I  promise  to 
do  this,"  said  Sigefrid,  whose  zeal  was  again  fired  by 
the  words  of  Peter  Damian.  "  And  then,  as  to  becoming 
a  monk " 

"  Promise  only  what  you  can  perform,"  remarked 
Damian.  "  You  can  refuse  consecration  to  all  unwor- 
thy postulants.  You  would  not  permit  a  leper  to  sit  at 
the  same  table  with  yourself.  Do  not  allow  a  notorious 
leper  to  become  a  truchsess,  or  carver,  at  the  table  of  the 
Lord  ;  for  if  you  do,  you  will  be  responsible  for  the 
poison  that  he  will  distribute  to  the  laity,  in  place  of 
the  manna  with  which  they  should  be  noui-ished." 


212  THE   POPE   AND   THE   E5IPER0E. 

"  As  a  Christian  —  as  a  priest  —  as  an  archbishop,  I 
promise,  dear  brother,  to  fulfil  your  injunctions  in  this 
respect,"  said  Sigefrid. 

"  Let  no  thi-eat  of  man  induce  you  to  break  this 
promise,"  exclaimed  Peter  Damian. 

"  It  shall  not,"  answered  Sigefrid. 

"  Let  no  temptation  move  you  to  swerve  from  it," 
added  Peter  Damian.  "  Be  your  answer  that  of  the 
Prince  of  the  Aj^ostles,  '  Keep  thy  money  to  thyself,  to 
perish  with  thee,  because  thou  hast  thought  that  the  gift 
of  God  may  be  purchased  with  money.'  " 

"  This,  too,  I  promise  to  say,"  replied  Sigefrid. 

A  barefooted  monk  here  entered  the  apartment,  and 
said,  in  addressing  himself  to  the  cardinal : 

"  A  pilgrim,  who  states  that  he  is  from  Italy,  presses 
earnestly  for  an  interview  with  you,  and  alone," 

"  I  shall  leave  you,"  said  Sigefrid,  breathing  some- 
what more  freely  upon  perceiving  that  there  was  a  chance 
of  this  interview  being  brought  to  a  close. 

"  I  will  not  detain  you  longer,  brother,"  answered 
Peter  Damian.  "  I  am  much  consoled  by  the  promise 
you  have  given  me.  Bear  it  ever  in  mind ;  for  the 
words  that  we  have  spoken  in  secret,  have  been  heard 
by  him,  befoi'e  whom  you  and  I  shall  yet  stand  as  cul- 
prits. Remember,  that  there  is  not  a  word  that  either 
of  us  has  here  spoken,  that  will  not  be  recalled  back  to 
us,  as  we  gave  utterance  to  it,  as  well  as  the  intention 
with  which  each  syllable  had  been  pronounced.  God 
grant  that  the  inquiry  may  tend  to  the  salvation  of  both ! 
And  now,  brother,  let  us  part  with  the  kiss  of  peace  — 
never,  I  feel  confident,  to  meet  again  as  living  men  in 
this  world — and  certain  to  be  confronted  with  each 
other  in  the  world  to  come." 


THE  FORTRESS  OP  ERZEGEBIRGE.        213 

CHAPTER    XVII. 

THE  FORTRESS  OF  ERZEGEBIRGE. 

More  than  three  weeks  had  now  passed  away,  and 
Beatrice  found  herself  still  a  prisoner  in  the  hands  of 
Diedrich,  confined  by  him  in  the  seemingly  inaccessible 
fortress  of  Erzegebirge.  During  all  that  period,  sor- 
row, sickness,  and  horror  had  confined  her  to  her  couch ; 
and  it  was  with  reluctance  that  she  assented  to  the  prayer 
of  Gretchen,  and  ascended  to  the  battlements  of  the 
tower  in  which  she  was  confined,  for  the  purpose  of  in- 
haling the  fresh  air.  She  looked  out  upon  a  Avide  and 
extensive  mountain  scenery,  in  which  were  every  where 
visible  the  labors  of  the  husbandman,  and  the  rich  re- 
wards that  heaven  bestows  upon  man  in  cultivating  the 
earth.  Droves  of  cattle  were  discernible  in  one  place, 
herds  of  swine  in  another,  and  around  them  were  fields 
that  promised,  in  their  due  season,  an  abundant  harvest ; 
whilst  close  to  the  foot  of  the  high,  steep,  rocky  hill,  on 
which  the  fortress  had  been  erected,  but  yet  separated 
and  self-protected  by  a  wide  trench,  and  a  strong  stone 
wall,  was  a  hamlet,  or  rather  village,  with  some  hun- 
dreds of  inhabitants,  and  having,  in  the  centre  of  that 
which  appeared  to  be  their  widest  street,  a  large  church. 
The  village,  as  seen  from  the  fortress,  seemed  to  be 
rather  a  pictured  than  a  real  domicile  of  human  beings, 
f  ;r,  though  persons  were  discernible  in  it,  engaged  in 
their  different  avocations,  still  they  were  removed  to 
such  a  distance,  that  no  sound  that  came  from  them 
reached  the  ears  of  the  spectator,  and  the  stillness  of  the 
air  was  as  unbroken  as  if  the  fortress  had  been  planted 
in  a  wilderness. 


214  THE   POPE   AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

Beatrice,  upon  mounting  to  the  battlements,  gazed, 
■without  a  feeling  of  the  slightest  interest,  upon  the 
scene  that  presented  itself  to  her  view,  until  her  eye 
rested  upon  this  village.  She  looked  long  and  attentive- 
ly towards  it  —  seemed  to  be  amused,  as  if  she  were  a 
child,  in  watching  the  movements  of  the  silent  little 
figures  beneath  her  —  she  rested  against  the  battlements, 
and  clasping  a  small  broken  fragment  of  one  of  the 
huge  parapets  in  her  tiny  hand,  she  exclaimed : 

"  I  would,  Gretchen,  that  I  could  be  transformed  into 
this  puny  pebble,  and  that  thou  couldst  fling  me  from 
this  battlement  into  the  midst  of  that  peaceful  ham- 
let." 

"  And  wherefore,"  said  Gretchen,  smiling,  *'  wish  for 
two  things  that  are  alike  impossible  ?  " 

"  Because,  I  believe,  that  it  is  only  among  the  poor 
that  true  peace  and  real  virtue  are  to  be  found,"  an- 
swered Beatrice.  "  O,  I  am  sick  —  sick  to  death  of  this 
life,  and  if  it  were  the  will  of  God,  would  gladly  give  up 
existence  this  very  moment.  I  have,  whilst  lying  on 
my  bed  of  suffering,  reviewed  in  thought  the  few  years 
I  have  passed  in  this  world,  and  what  have  I  seen  ?  a 
mother,  the  very  model  of  perfection,  yet  a  martyr  to 
some  unknown  and  undiscoverable  grief — a  father,  for 
whom  it  would  be  hard  to  say  whether  I  love  or  fear 
him ;  whether  I  do  not  fear  him  too  much  to  love  him, 
or  rather,  I  know  not  why,  I  fear  to  love  him  —  a  child- 
hood passed  in  riches,  in  pomp,  and  in  mystery :  and 
then  the  last  month  of  my  existence,  where,  in  addition 
to  my  own  sufferings,  my  undeserved  sufferings,  caused 
by  the  caprice  of  a  wicked  monarch,  I  have  looked  upon 
virtue,  united  first  to  an  imperial,  and  then  to  a  regal 
crown,  and  yet,  because  of  its  exalted  rank,  doomed  to 


THE  FORTRESS  OF  ERZEGEBIRGE.        215 

years  of  ceaseless  weeping,  and  of  hopeless  grief:  and 
then,  last  of  all  —  worst  of  all  —  the  death  of  the 
bishop " 

"  I  pray  of  you  not  to  permit  your  mind  to  rest  upon 
that  scene,"  interrupted  Gretchen.  "  Think  of  Duke 
Magnus — think  of  your  destined  husband." 

"  Words  — vain,  unmeaning  words,"  continued  Bea- 
trice. "  I  cannot  think  of  INIagnus  but  with  love  —  the 
love  I  ever  have  felt  for  him  as  a  child  —  the  love  I 
ever  shall  feel  for  him  as  a  M'oman.  But  as  my  hus- 
band —  my  destined  husband  —  I  have  ceased  to  think 
of  him,  since  I  witnessed  the  martyrdom  of  the  bishop." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  said  Gretchen.  "  What 
had  the  cruel  and  bloody  murder  of  the  venerable  bishop 
to  do  with  the  pure  love  and  devoted  affections  of  Duke 
Magnus  ? " 

"  Much  —  much  —  very  much,"  answered  Beatrice. 
"  I  have  been  too  weak,  and  too  ill  since  that  dreadful 
day  to  speak  of  it ;  but  circumstances  occurred  of  which 
you  are,  imtil  this  moment,  unconscious.  It  is  not 
necessary  for  me  to  bid  you  remember  the  speechless 
agony  in  which  Gertraud  left  us,  when  she  bade  us 
pray  to  God  for  mercy  on  the  soul  of  one  who  was  then 
living,  and  who  had  never  given  cause  of  offence  to  man. 
O,  God !  who  can  paint  our  agony,  when  we  heard  the 
voices  overhead,  upon  the  accursed  precipice  ;  and  when 
a  long  yelling  shriek  was  followed  by  our  finding  that 
the  body  of  the  bishop  had  rolled  down  to  our  very 
feet.  You  insisted,  after  a  brief  examination,  that  the 
bishop  was  still  living,  despite  of  his  desperate  fall,  and 
ran  to  seek  for  water.  It  was  during  your  absence, 
the  occurrence,  which  I  am  now  about  to  narrate,  took 
place. 


216  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

"I  was  kneeling,  weeping,  and  my  hot  tears  were 
falling  upon  the  face  of  the  dead,  as  I  supposed,  when 
the  mangled  bishop  heaved  a  sigh,  and  suddenly  opened 
his  eyes,  and  gazed  on  me,  and  seemed  to  gather  slowly 
the  meaning  of  the  words  I  uttered,  and  that  they  were 
prayers  for  him.  A  gentle  smile,  such  a  smile  as  beams 
around  the  lips  of  martyrs,  lighted  up  his  features  for  a 
moment,  as  he  said :  — 

" '  I  give  thee  thanks,  O,  God,  who  thus  permittest 
thy  unworthy  servant  to  pass  into  thy  presence,  aided 
with  the  prayers  of  a  holy  maiden ! 

" '  My  child,'  he  continued,  '  my  words  must  be  few  ; 
for  I  feel  that  life  is  momentarily  leaving  me.  I  bear 
about  with  me  the  Blessed  Sacrament.  It  must  be  saved 
from  the  hand  of  infidels.  Take  it,'  he  said,  unloosening 
a  small  locket  of  gold,  enriched  with  precious  stones,  and 
that  hung  from  his  neck  by  a  thin  golden  chain.  '  Take 
it,  my  child,  I  permit  you  to  conceal  it  in  your  bosom  ; 
there  let  it  rest  in  that  locket  until  you  have  the  oppor- 
tunity of  giving  it  safely  to  a  priest.  In  thus  requiring 
you  to  take  charge  of  it  —  and  which  nothing  but  the 
circumstances  in  which  I  am  placed  would  justify,  for  I 
know  my  garments  will  be  searched,  when  dead,  and 
that  it  would  fall  into  the  hands  of  my  murderers,  the 
unbelieving  Paterini  —  I  ask  of  you,  Avhose  person  will 
thus  become  consecrated  by  such  a  charge,  to  devote 
yourself,  if  it  be  possible,  to  the  service  of  that  spouse, 
of  whom  you  now  have  the  sacred  care.  None  but  vir- 
ginal hands  should  ever  approach  it ;  and  the  hands  that 
have  once  come  in  contact  with  it,  should  remain  forever 
after  employed  in  the  service  of  the  Lord. 

"  *  Such  is  the  last  prayer  —  such  the  sole  request  of 
one,  who,  though  a   sinner,   God  has  been  pleased  to 


THE   FORTRESS   OF  ERZEGEBIRGE.  217 

make  a  martyr  of.  To  him  be  praise  and  glory  forever, 
and '  As  he  spoke  these  words,  his  voice  was  in- 
terrupted by  a  gush  of  blood.  I  felt  that  the  warm  glow 
was  on  my  face,  on  my  hands,  on  my  neck  !  Talk 
then,  Gretchen,  to  me  no  more  of  INIagnus,  as  my  hus- 
band. I  am  consecrated  to  God  in  the  blood  of  a  martyr. 
I  remember  no  more ;  for  I  fainted  as  I  felt  the  blood 
of  the  bishop  upon  me." 

*'  Alas !  I  know  it  but  too  well,"  said  Gretchen,  "  for 
I  despaired  of  your  life  for  many  days  afterwards.  But, 
tell  me,  lady,  do  I  understand  you  right,  when  you  say 
that  you  bear  that  awful  locket  still  upon  you  ?  " 

"  I  do,"  replied  Beatrice  ;  "I  bear  it  about  me  with, 
fear  and  trembling.     Here  it  is." 

So  saying,  she  undid  the  robe  that  covered  her  neck 
and  throat,  and  Gretchen  beheld,  resting  on^the  snow- 
white  skin,  a  dazzling  locket.  The  moment  she  saw  it, 
she  went  down  upon  her  knees,  and  fixing  her  eyes 
upon  it,  gave  utterance  to  a  pious  prayer.  Beatrice 
remained  moveless  as  Gretchen  prayed  ;  and,  when  she 
saw  her  making  the  sign  of  the  cross,  she  fastened  up 
her  dress  again,  and  said  :  — 

"  I  scarcely  need  tell  you,  Gretchen,  that  I  have  been 
very  careful  that  my  hands  should  not  touch  that  locket. 
I  have  removed  it  solely  by  the  chain  that  is  attached  to 
it  ;  and  I  long  for  the  moment  when  I  can  deposit  it 
with  a  priest.  The  sight  of  the  church  in  yonder  ham- 
let reminded  me  of  it,  and  made  me  wish  that  I  could 
fly  down  and  disburden  myself  of  this  awful  —  this 
most  sacred  charge.  Alas !  here,  where  kingly  power 
has  erected  one  of  its  strongest  fortresses,  there  is  neither 
truth,  virtue,  nor  honor,  to  be  found." 

**  Say  not  so,  pretty  maiden,"  said  Gertraud,  here 
19 


218  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

stepping  up  on  the  battlements  ;  "  say  not  so  of  the  stout 
fortress  of  Erzegebirge,  as  long  as  you,  and  I,  and  Die- 
drich  make  of  it  our  abode  ;  for  I  am  truth,  you  are  vir- 
tue, and  Diedrich  is  honor,  I  never  told  a  lie,  therefore 
I  am  truth ;  you  do  not  as  yet  know  what  it  is  to  be 
vicious,  and,  therefore,  you  are  virtue  ;  whilst,  as  to  hon- 
est Diedrich,  who  would  as  soon  think  of  injuring  the 
king,  or  any  one  he  had  sworn  fealty  to,  as  the  mastiff 
would  of  biting  the  hand  that  fed  him,  he  is  honor  from 
the  crest  on  his  helmet  to  the  spur  on  his  heel." 

"  And  yet,"  remarked  Gretchen,  "  this  man  of  honor 
murdered  a  good  and  unoffending  bishop." 

"  If  your  mistress,"  said  Gertraud,  "  desired  you, 
upon  the  peril  of  disobedience,  to  cut  off  her  golden 
hair,  would  you  not  do  it,  even  though  you  disapproved 
of  the  act  itself  ?  " 

"  Most  certainly  I  would,"  answered  Gretchen ;  ^'  and 
I  may  add,  that  even  though  censured  by  others  for 
what  I  had  done,  yet  would  I  hold  myself  not  only 
excused,  but  justified,  because  it  was  in  pursuance  of  an 
order  which  I  had  no  right  to  disobey." 

"  Then,  what  a  silly  girl  you  are,"  said  Gertraud, 
laughing,  "  to  censure  acts  which  you  do  not  compre- 
hend !  Think  you,  that  my  brave  Diedrich  does  not 
know,  as  well  as  you  do  the  duties  of  a  tiring  woman, 
the  duties  of  a  knight  to  his  king,  of  a  soldier  to  his 
officer,  of  a  vassal  to  his  lord?  It  was  not  he  who 
mui-dered  the  Bishop  of  Osnabruck  —  it  was  King 
Henry ;  Diedrich  only  executed  orders  he  was  bound  to 
obey.  It  is  not  the  sword  that  kills,  but  the  hand  that 
compels  it  to  thrust  and  slash.  Diedrich  had  sworn  to 
obey  the  king's  commands  :  it  would  be  dishonorable 
in  him  to  violate  his  oath ;  and  the  more  disagreeable 


THE   FORTRESS   OF  ERZEGEBIRGE.  219 

to  himself  the  order  that  may  be  given,  the  more  honor- 
able in  him  literally  to  fulfil  it.  Your  mistress  may 
pride  herself  in  her  virtue,  as  I  boast  of  my  sincerity ; 
but  of  this  I  am  quite  certain,  there  is  more  real,  pure 
honor  in  the  heart  of  Diedrich,  than  there  is  of  virtue  in 
her,  or  truth  in  me.  Why  should  you  dislike  Die- 
drich ?  Has  he  not  acted  most  honorably  towards  you 
both  ?  He  was  desired  to  treat  you  vv'ith  every  respect, 
and  to  render  your  lives  as  happy  as  was  consistent  with 
your  complete  security.  Well  knowing  that  you  hate 
the  sight  of  him  —  that  you  have  an  abhorrence  of  him 
—  since  he  slew  the  bishop,  has  he  not  most  honorably 
refrained  from  appearing  before  your  mistress  ?  " 

''Ay,  but  not  appearing  before  us,"  remarked  Gretch- 
en ;  "  this  honorable  man  employed  you  as  a  spy,  to 
watch  over  us  when  we  were  travelling  hither." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Gertraud,  perfectly  unabashed.  "  In 
so  doing,  he  only  acted  upon  the  desire  that  no  accident 
should  occur  to  prevent  his  honorable  fulfilment  of  the 
order  given  to  him  —  to  keep  you  in  safe  custody  —  so 
that  no  attempt  at  escape  should  be  made  by  you. 
With  that  intention,  and  not  caring  to  know  one  word 
that  you  may  say,  that  does  not  bear  upon  such  project, 
he  appointed  me  as  a  spy  upon  you,  when  you  were 
travelling  ;  and  now  that  you  are  able  to  walk  about,  he 
has  again  reappointed  me  to  act  as  a  spy  upon  you  two. 
It  was  with  that  intention  I  came  here  —  and  it  is  with 
that  intention  I  mean  to  watch  every  word  you  say,  and 
every  thing  you  do.  I  am  acting  as  a  spy  this  very 
moment ;  and,  if  you  knew  a  little  more  of  the  strata- 
gems of  war,  you  would  perceive  I  was  so  conducting 
myself,  without  my  telling  you." 

"As  you  are  so  candid,  and  so  very  truthful,"  re- 


220  THE  POPE   AND   THE  EMPEROE. 

marked  Gretchen,  "I  would  wish  to  know  why  you 
have  not  approached  us  for  three  weeks,  and  wherefore 
it  is  that  you  now  place  yourself  by  our  side  as  a  spy  ? 
We  are  now,  as  we  were  then,  prisoners.  We  are  the 
same  to-day  that  we  were  this  day  three  weeks." 

"  You  are  not  the  same  to-day  that  you  were  this  day 
three  weeks,"  replied  Gertraud.  "  No  one  is.  I  more 
than  doubt  if  any  one  is  the  same  person  to-day  that  he 
was  yesterday.  We  are  ahvays  in  a  constant  state  of 
change,  though  we  see  it  not ;  the  infant  falls  into  the 
grave  an  old  man,  and  yet  he  has  changed  from  day  to 
day,  and  thought  that  each  night  he  slept  produced  no 
change  in  him !  Ye  are  three  weeks  older  than  you 
were  three  weeks  ago :  the  world,  too,  is  three  weeks 
older  since  then  :  and  this  I  know,  that  many  a  brave 
man,  who  this  day  three  weeks  went  to  bed  in  his  peace- 
ful home,  now  reposes  forever  in  his  blood-stained 
grave  ;  many  a  woman  who  this  day  three  weeks  had  no 
other  anxiety  on  her  mind  than  Avhether  the  kine  had 
been  cared  for,  or  the  swine  retiu-ned  safe  from  the 
forest,  or  that  her  children  had  been  well  nursed,  is  now 
husbandlcss,  childless,  homeless  ;  for  our  valiant  King 
Henry  has  been  wasting  the  lands  of  the  Saxons.  No 
sooner  did  he  break  up  his  Parliament  in  Frankfort, 
which  had  declared  Otho,  Duke  of  Bavaria,  a  trai- 
tor  " 

"  What !  the  uncle  of  Magnus  declared  a  traitor  !  " 
said  Beatrice,  shocked  at  the  intelligence  that  thus 
unexpectedly  reached  her. 

"  lie  has  been  declared  a  traitor,"  continued  Ger- 
traud. "  His  treason  consisted  in  his  great  wealth  and 
his  high  office  ;  and  Henry  wanted  the  one  for  himself, 
and  the   other  for  a  friend  —  and   as  Otho  would  not 


THE  FORTRESS   OF  ERZEGEBIRGE.  221 

yield  them  for  the  asking,  Henry  determined  upon 
taking  them  —  and,  therefore,  he  had  Otho  declared  a 
traitor.  He  is  an  astute  man,  our  King  Henry  ;  for 
the  moment  that  he  had  Otho  denounced  as  in  a  state  of 
war  against  himself,  he  had  also  ready  provided  and 
prepared  the  means  of  rendering  Otho  incapable  of 
resisting  him.  The  doom  of  the  Frankfort  Parliament 
was  instantly  followed  by  swarms  of  soldiers  pouring  in 
on  all  sides  on  the  principality  of  Otho.  The  orders 
given  to  these  soldiers  were  to  lay  every  thing  waste 
with  fire  and  sword,  and  those  words  they  have  literally 
fulfilled.  They  have  torn,  or  they  have  burned  down 
houses  and  growing  crops  —  carried  off  the  cattle,  or 
destroyed  what  they  could  not  carry  off;  and  all  the 
cultivators  of  the  fields,  wherever  they  have  met  with 
them,  they  have  mutilated,  so  as  to  render  them  incapa- 
ble of  toil  for  the  future,  or  they  have  cut  off  their 
hands,  or  hung  them  upon  trees.  Even  the  churches 
have  been  broken  into,  their  altars  spoliated,  and  then 
the  edifices  themselves  set  on  fire.  The  Castle  of  Ha- 
nenstein,  which  attempted  to  resist  the  king's  soldiers, 
has  been  captured,  and  all  the  defenders,  because  they 
dared  to  oppose  themselves  to  the  king,  put  to  the 
sword.  Otho's  great  fortress  of  Tesenberg,  which  was 
deemed  to  be  impregnable,  has,  by  the  cowardice  of  its 
soldiers,  yielded  without  striking  a  blow,  and  it  is  now 
garrisoned  by  the  king's  schaaren.  In  addition  to  this, 
the  lands,  the  houses,  the  churches,  and  the  gorgeous 
villas  and  estates  of  Duke  Otho's  wife,  have  been  all  set 
on  fire,  and  the  women  and  boys  found  in  them  mas- 
sacred —  and  this  in  revenge  for  the  fiight  of  the  men, 
who,  to  save  their  lives,  fled  to  the  shelter  of  the  marshes 
and  the  dark  recesses  of  the  forests ;  and  who,  in  doing 
19* 


222         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

SO,  supposed  that  no  soldier  would  injure  innocent 
women  and  unoffending  children.  And  no  real  soldier 
would,  I  am  sure,  do  so,  unless  he  had  positive  orders 
to  kill  screeching  women  and  yelping  boys.  I  will  an- 
swer for  it,  stout  Diedrich  would  sooner  eat  a  piece  of 
his  sword,  then  sheathe  it  in  the  heart  of  a  woman  or  a 
puling  boy  —  but,  if  ordered  to  do  so,  that  is  another 
thing.  You  know  a  soldier  must  obey  orders.  It  is  a 
very  unpleasant  duty  ;  but  it  is  sometimes  necessary,  as 
in  this  instance,  where  it  was  deemed  requisite  to  force 
an  entire  people  into  a  state  of  rebellion.  For  such  an 
object  nothing  is  ever  more  successful  than  the  massacre 
of  women  and  children.  King  Henry  is  too  well  versed 
in  statesmanship  not  to  know  that,  and  accordingly,  he 
gave  his  orders,  and  his  soldiers  obeyed,  and  now  his 
desires  have  been  accomplished.  All  Saxony  is  in  open 
rebellion.  We  slaughter  the  Saxons  when  we  like,  and 
they  kill  us  when  they  can.  If  you  remain  upon  these 
walls  but  an  hour  longer,  you  will  witness  as  fine  a 
piece  of  military  skill  as  any  soldier  would  wish  to 
witness." 

"  I  trust  you  do  not  mean  to  tell  us,"  said  Beatrice, 
*  that  I  shall  be  again  doomed  to  behold  any  more  of 
the  barbarities  of  the  terrible  man  who  unjustly  retains 
mc  here  as  a  captive." 

"  Ho  !  ho  !  "  exclaimed  Gcrtraud,  "  my  brave  Die- 
drich—  a  terrible  man  !  What,  the  brave  Diedrich 
terrible  !  I  can  assure  you,  young  lady,  that  Diedrich 
is  as  mild  as  a  lamb  —  meek  and  gentle  as  a  dove,  when 
he  has  the  wine  cup  in  his  hand.  He  never  did  a  cruel 
thing  in  his  life  for  the  sake  of  inflicting  pain  on 
another.  He  is  a  soldier  —  it  is  his  profession  to  kill 
—  it  is  his  duty  to  destroy  the  king's  enemies,  and  he 


THE   FORTRESS  OF  ERZEGEBIRGE.  223 

only  puts  them  to  death  as  the  butcher  kills  cattle  —  for 
the  general  benefit  of  the  community  !  Even  now,  he 
does  not  bear  the  slightest  malice  to  any  individual  in 
that  hamlet  you  see  below,  and  yet,  before  the  sun  sets, 
he  has  contrived  a  project,  which,  if  carried  into  full 
effect,  will  result  in  not  leaving  alive  a  man  in  that 
hamlet  who  is  able  to  bear  arms.  O,  Diedrich  is  a 
most  able  general  —  a  true  soldier  —  and,  as  I  have 
told  you  before,  unequalled  in  an  ambuscade." 

**  O,  Heavens  !  "  said  Beatrice  ;  "  how  can  these  poor 
people  have  offended  Diedrich  ?  " 

"  They  have  done  him  grievous  wrong,  lady,"  au- 
swei'ed  Gertraud.  "  Two  of  the  soldiers  under  his 
command  descended  into  the  hamlet  a  few  days  ago : 
they  did  so  without  permission.  It  is  not  improbable 
that  they  misconducted  themselves  there  —  that  is,  that 
they  wished  to  take  away  soinething  that  did  not  belong 
to  them,  or  perhaps  kissed  some  .Saxon  maiden,  or  wife ; 
for  our  soldiers,  Avhen  they  do  drink,  are  very  apt  to  be 
rude,  and  to  fancy  they  have  a  right,  especially  in  time 
of  war,  to  whatever  they  set  their  eyes  upon.  However, 
what  may  have  been  the  cause  we  know  not,  but  the 
people  were  offended,  and  instead  of  arresting  those 
soldiers,  and  bringing  them  before  Diedrich,  who  would 
have  punished  them  if  they  deserved  it,  the  rustics 
thought  fit  to  avenge  their  own  wrong,  set  upon  the 
soldiers,  murdered  them,  and  hung  their  bodies  on  trees 
outside  their  wall.  There  they  have  been  discovered  ; 
and  Diedrich  has  resolved  upon  punishing  their  murder- 
ers. Villains,  no  doubt  they  were  —  but  they  were  his 
soldiers  —  slain  whilst  under  his  command,  not  in  battle, 
but  by  the  hands  of  citizens,  and  he  is  resolved  to  have 
a  life  for  every  hair  of  their  heads.     O,  he  is  a  good 


224  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

general,  and  he  loves  his  soldiers  as  if  they  were  his 
own  children.  Wait  now  here,  but  a  short  time  longer, 
and  you  will  see  a  fine  device  of  war." 

"  When,  O,  when  shall  these  horrors  cease  !  "  cried 
Beatrice. 

"  Horrors  !  "  cried  Gertraud,  amazed  at  an  expression 
that  was  new  to  her,  and  as  applied  to  a  profession  she 
so  much  admired.  "  Horrors,  forsooth  !  why,  what  are 
the  materials  of  ^vhich  fame  and  glory  are  composed, 
but  those  very  things  that  you,  lady,  designate  as  hor- 
rors ?  AVhat  was  Alexander  the  Great  ?  What  was 
Caesar  ?  What  was  Charlemagne  himself,  but  a  Diedrich 
with  a  crown  on  his  head  ?  Take  away  from  these  all 
the  blood  that  the}'  shed  —  all  the  widows  they  made, 
and  all  the  orphans  they  have  left  desolate  —  all  the 
homesteads  they  have  wasted,  and  the  crops  they  have 
destroyed,  and  where  is  their  glory  ?  Let  us  fancy  they 
had  never  done  any  one  of  these  things,  and  then  we 
should  never  have  known  of  them.  I  dare  to  say  that 
my  own  brave  Diedrich  has,  with  his  own  hand,  in  fair, 
open  fight,  and  with  his  good  sword,  put  to  death  more 
than  any  one  of  them,  in  all  his  life,  personally  encoun- 
tered. Their  fame,  then,  does  not  consist  in  their  mere 
personal  prowess  alone  —  their  fame  consists  in  the  ac- 
cumulation of  '  horrors,'  which  they  had  the  power  of 
inflicting  during  their  lifetime  upon  their  fellow-creatures. 
You  weep  over  the  fate  of  a  single  hamlet,  and  yet  you 
have  been  taught  to  marvel  at  the  achievements  of  an 
Alexander  and  a  Ceesar,  and  to  reverence  a  Charlemagne. 
/  admire  them  —  and  I  do  so,  because  I  love  Diedrich  ; 
and  when  I  am  told  what  victories  they  won,  and  what 
buttles  they  gained,  I  believe  that  I  am  a  sharer  in  both, 
because  I   know  they  never  could   have  been  accom- 


THE  FORTRESS  OP  ERZEGEBIRGE.  225 

plished,  if  those  famous  heroes  had  not  hundreds  of  men 
like  Diedrich  under  their  command.  But  I  pray  your 
pardon,  lady,  I  was  about  to  tell  you  of  the  success  of 
Henry's  policy  in  ordering  the  massacre  of  women  and 
children  on  the  estate  of  the  wife  of  Duke  Otho.  It  is 
a  subject  in  which  I  know  you  must  feel  interested,  as 
it  will  compel  me  to  tell  you  something  of  the  young 
Duke  Magnus." 

"  O,  proceed  —  proceed,"  said  Beatrice  ;  "  for  you 
mention  a  name  which,  my  poor  trembhng  heart  tells 
me,  binds  me  still  too  strongly  and  too  closely  to  this 
world." 

"  No  sooner,  then,"  continued  Gertraud,  "  had  Otho 
received  intelligence  of  the  barbarities  thus  committed  by 
the  king's  soldiers,  than  he  grasped  his  sword,  summoned 
his  knights  and  vassals  around  him,  and  made  an  incur- 
sion into  Thuringia  ;  and  such  mischief  as  had  been  in- 
flicted upon  himself,  he  did  to  the  king  ;  pouncing  down 
upon  all  the  farms  and  villas  of  the  enemy,  burning  and 
wasting,  and  carrying  off  spoil  wherever  he  went,  and 
thus  impoverishing  the  sovereign  as  he  himself  had 
been  impoverished.  He  swept  away,  in  his  victorious 
career,  every  opponent,  until  he  at  length  came  to 
Henschenwege,  where  Count  Rutger,  at  the  head  of  a 
large  army,  was  drawn  up  to  encounter,  and,  it  was 
hoped,  to  annihilate  him.  There  Otho  was  joined  by 
the  Duke  Magnus,  at  the  head  of  a  large  body  of  horse- 
men. This  battle  took  place  but  a  few  days  ago  —  if 
that  can  be  called  a  battle,  in  which,  from  the  first  mo- 
ment that  Duke  Magnus  M'ith  his  horsemen  dashed  down 
upon  the  soldiers,  the  caitilf.  Count  llutger,  the  com- 
purgator of  Egcn,  and  the  cause  of  Duke  Otho's  being 
declared  a  traitor,  gave,  by  his  own  base  cowardice,  the 


226  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

sisrnal  for  flisrht  to  our  men.  Before  an  arrow  conld 
reach  him,  Rutger  ran  from  the  field  ;  and  the  battle,  in 
a  single  moment  afterwards,  became  a  carnage,  in  which 
the  fugitives,  as  they  fled,  were  cut  down  by  their  vic- 
torious pursuers.  The  king,  we  are  told,  lost  hundreds 
of  men ;  Duke  Otho,  but  two  :  and  now,  whilst  the 
Saxons  are  collecting  all  their  forces  for  the  purpose  of 
attacking  Henry,  he  is  concentrating  a  grand  army 
around  Goslar  ;  he  has  proclaimed  an  arriere-ban,  in  all 
parts  of  the  empire,  and  Swabians,  Bohemians,  Bava- 
rians, and  even  the  Italians,  are  hastening  to  his  aid. 
Yes  ;  we  are  sure  to  have  a  great  and  decisive  battle 
very  speedily.  I  trust  that  my  valiant  Diedrich,  instead 
of  being  left  here,  in  the  inglorious  occupation  of  watch- 
ing two  poor  girls,  will  be  recalled  by  the  king,  and  that 
I,  with  him,  may  be  permitted  to  see  a  grand  engage- 
ment between  the  whole  of  the  Saxons  —  nobles  and 
people  (for  all  are  in  full  insurrection),  and  the  other 
nations  of  the  empire.  The  Saxons  are  brave,  and  are 
sure  to  fight  well.  Meanwhile,  our  spies  tell  us,  that 
Duke  Magnus  has  been  detached  from  the  camp  of  Otho 
towards  the  borders  of  Bohemia.  It  is  suspected  that 
he  is  coming  here  with  the  intention  of  rescuing  you." 

"  Of  rescuing  me  !  "  exclaimed  Beatrice.  "  O, 
heavens,  why  endanger  his  life  for  one  so  worthless  as 
I  am  ?  " 

"  Why  ?  "  cried  Gertraud,  her  dark  eyes  flashing  with 
indignation,  "  because  he  would  himself  be  most  worth- 
less if  he  did  not  do  so.  He  is  betrothed  to  you  —  he 
is  bound  to  protect  you  ;  and  if  he  shrank  from  fulfil- 
ling such,  a  duty,  he  Avould  be  unworthy  of  the  shield  of 
a  knight,  the  sword  of  a  soldier,  or  the  name  of  a  man. 
It  is  calculated  that  he  is  as  brave  as  he  is  young,  and 


THE  FORTRESS  OF  ERZEGEBIRGE.  227 

tlierefore  am  I  here  acting  as  a  spy  upon  yoiT,  so  that 
you  may  have  no  communication  with  him,  the  knowl- 
edge of  which  shall  not  he  instantly  forwarded  to  Die- 
drich." 

As  Gertraud  spoke  these  words,  a  twang,  and  then  a 
whizzing  noise  was  heard,  as  if  an  arrow  had  been  shot 
from  a  bow  drawn  by  a  strong  hand.  The  practised  eye 
of  Gertraud  showed  her  that  the  arrow  must  have  been 
shot  from  a  clump  of  trees  that  lay  at  the  base  of  the 
fortress,  from  the  side  opposite  to  that  on  which  the 
hamlet  lay.  She  then  watched  the  rapid  flight  of  the 
arrow  ;  —  she  observed  that  it  mounted  high  in  the  air, 
and  then  turning,  was  coming  point  downwards,  in  a 
direct  line,  on  the  very  tower  on  which  she  and  the 
other  maidens  stood.  She  instantly  removed  the  helmet 
from  her  head,  and  watching  the  descent  of  the  arrow, 
thus  intercepted  it  before  it  could  reach  the  ground. 

"  A  good  bowman  !  "  exclaimed  Gertraud.  "  He 
measured  the  distance  well ;  but,  in  this  instance,  he  has 
not  hit  what  he  aimed  at." 

As  she  said  this,  she  detached  from  the  arrow  a  piece 
of  parchment,  and,  as  she  read  the  lines  inscribed  on  it, 
there  was  a  flush  of  joy  in  her  face. 

"  I  will  thank  you,  lady,"  said  Gertraud,  "  to  permit 
me  to  look  at  your  veil  for  a  moment." 

Beatrice  handed  the  snow-white  veil  to  Gertraud,  who, 
instead  of  looking  at  it,  stepped,  as  she  was,  bareheaded, 
forth  upon  the  battlements,  and  then,  waving  the  veil 
three  times  in  the  air,  above  her  head,  again  retired  be- 
hind a  parapet,  so  as  not  to  be  visible  to  any  one,  look- 
ing from  beneath,  up  at  the  tower. 

"  What  means  all  this  ?  "  asked  Beatrice. 

"  I  will  tell  yoa  the  signification  of  it  presently," 


228  THE  POPE   AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

answered  Gertraud.  "  But,  whilst  waiting  for  the  ex- 
planation, I  pray  you  to  look  out  beyond  the  hamlet,  and 
see  if  you  can  discern  there  any  thing  that  is  strange." 

"  O,  yes  !  "  exclaimed  Beatrice  ;  "  I  behold  there  — 
far  away  —  I  suppose  it  is  two  miles  distance,  that  houses 
have  been  set  on  fire  —  and  see  !  there  is  a  dark  smoke 
rising  up  from  some  of  the  fields,  as  if  there  were  a 
smouldering  fire  amongst  the  crops  !  Who  can  be  the 
perpetrators  of  such  gross  and  wanton  mischief  ?  " 

"  Our  own  brave  soldiers  —  do  you  mark  them  there, 
with  blazing  torches  in  their  hands  ?  "  said  Gertraud. 
"  See  —  there  is  not  more  than  twenty  of  them.  Ob- 
serve how  they  keep  in  a  close,  dark  body  together  ; 
and,  as  they  gather  round  the  huts  of  the  husbandmen, 
and  the  cottages  of  the  shepherds,  a  flame  bursts  forth ; 
and  the  fields  over  which  they  pass,  fume  up.  O,  they 
know  their  profession  well.  Diedrich  chose  them  as  the 
most  accomplished  devastators  in  the  fortress." 

"  And  this  is  war  !  glorious  war  !  "  cried  Beatrice, 
shuddering. 

"  This,  war  !  I  pity  you,  girl,  for  your  ignorance," 
said  Gertraud,  smiling.  "  This  is  but  one  of  the  prelim- 
inaries to,  or  the  consequences  of  war.  This  is  simply 
mischief  —  not  war :  and  here  it  is  intended  as  a  provo- 
(;ation  to  war.  And,  O,  rare  !  O,  most  excellent !  as 
such  it  is  accepted  in  this  instance.  Ah  !  what  an  ad- 
mirable captain  is  my  brave  Diedrich !  Look  now  into 
the  hamlet  —  mark  the  running  to  and  fro  of  men,  and 
of  women.  See  how  the  latter  clap  their  hands  in  grief, 
and  how  the  men  arm  themselves  as  best  they  can  —  and 
now  —  see  —  the  gate  is  thrown  open,  and  they  go  tum- 
bling out  in  crowds,  with  swords,  and  spears,  and  shields, 
and  arrows,  and   scythes,  and  whatever   else   they  can 


THE  FORTRESS  OP  ERZEGEBIRGE.        229 

think  of — poor  fellows!  they  Httle  know  what  awaits 
them,  or  they  Avould  not  be  in  such  a  hurry." 

"  What !  "  cried  Gretchen,  "  would  you  expect  them 
to  remain  calm  lookers-on  at  the  wanton  destruction  of 
their  property  by  some  twenty  miscreants,  and  not  anni- 
hilate such  villains  ?  In  less  than  half  an  hour,  I  hope 
to  see  them  return  with  the  heads  of  those  wretches." 

"  Excellent !  most  excellent !  "  replied  Gertraud  ; 
*'  that  is  brave  Diedrich's  calculation,  as  to  what  the 
people  of  the  hamlet  would  say.  His  plot,  now,  I  per- 
ceive, is  certain  of  success.  See  —  the  men  are  all  pour- 
ing out  still  —  there  must  be  three  hundred  of  them, 
at  the  least  —  shoemakers,  carpenters,  blacksmiths,  bakers, 
butchers.  Ha !  what  is  this  ?  They  have  left  a  few  to 
watch  the  gate.  That  is  the  most  sensible  thing  they 
have  done  as  yet.  There  is  then  a  chance  that  the 
hamlet  will  not  be  destroyed.  But,  mark  now,  Gretchen, 
what  I  say  to  you.  There  is  not  one  man  in  ten  from 
the  hamlet,  that  crosses  the  small  stream  you  see  below 
there,  that  looks  from  this  like  a  thin  thread  of  silver  — 
no,  not  even  one  in  twenty  who  fords  it  now,  will  ever 
return,  living,  to  the  hamlet ;  and  only  they  have  had 
the  precaution  to  set  a  guard  upon  the  gate,  not  one 
man  —  nay,  not  even  a  woman  or  a  child  in  that  hamlet, 
would  live  to  see  to-morrow's  sunrise.  See,  the  villagers 
are  scattering  themselves  in  all  directions  over  the  fields, 
lest,  by  any  chance,  the  small  troop  of  horsemen  should 
escape  them.  Mark  !  how  those  horsemen  seem  to  be 
unconscious  of  all  this  commotion,  and  still  keep  burn- 
ing homesteads  and  crops  !  O,  these  are  true  veteran 
warriors  !  These  are  the  men  that  make  kings  famous 
in  story." 

It  was  with  a  breathless  attention,  but  with  far  differ- 
20 


230  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

ent  feelings,  that  the  three  women  now  looked  from  the 
battlements  of  the  castle,  upon  the  scene  below.  Bea- 
trice regarded  what  Avas  passing  with  horror,  and  with 
fear  for  the  lives  of  those  few  soldiers  who  were  perpe- 
trating such  wanton  mischief.  Gretchen,  with  all  the 
intense  feelings  of  nationality  burning  in  her  heart,  and 
all  her  sympathies  absorbed  in  the  fate  of  her  country- 
men, and  in  the  welfare  of  her  nation,  looked  down 
eagerly,  thirsting  for  the  blood  of  every  one  of  those 
oppressors  that  she  saw  thus  laying  waste  the  land,  and 
destroying  the  property,  of  unoffending  husbandmen  — 
of  Saxons,  too,  and,  therefore,  loved  by  her  as  her  broth- 
ers. In  her  desii-e  for  vengeance  upon  them,  she  did 
not  heed  the  words  of  Gertraud,  and  only  wished  that 
she  were  a  man,  and  out  in  the  fields,  with  the  inhabit- 
ants of  the  village  in  pursuit  of  the  spoilers.  Gertraud 
gazed  upon  the  same  scene  calmly  —  unmoved,  unshaken, 
but  still  interested  —  as  if  she  were  but  looking  on  sol- 
diers practising  a  mimic  engagement,  and  not  occupied 
in  a  real  action.  She  regarded  with  the  eye  of  a  con- 
noisseur what  was  passing,  and  prepared  to  bestow 
praise  or  blame,  with  equal  impartiality,  on  which  ever 
side  she  saw  courage  displayed,  or  cowardice  exhibited. 

Thus  watched  these  three  women,  for  some  time,  and 
such  attention  did  they  bestow  upon  the  movements  of 
the  villagers  on  the  one  side,  and  of  the  few  soldiers  on 
the  other,  that  not  a  word  was  spoken.  At  last  they 
perceived  the  soldiers,  who  had  been  engaged  in  the 
work  of  devastation,  pause,  at  the  very  moment  that  they 
appeared  to  be  on  the  point  of  being  surrounded  by  the 
villagers,  and  then  to  start  off  at  a  quick  gallop,  with 
all  the  men  of  the  village  in  pursuit. 

"  The  cowards  !  "  exclaimed  Gretchen.     "  It  is  as  I 


THE  POETEESS   OP  EEZEGEBIEGE.  231 

expected,  they  would  never  venture  to  cross  sword  with 
the  Saxon." 

Scarcely  had  she  uttered  these  words,  when  there  was 
seen  to  emerge  from  a  small  wood  that  lay  on  the  other 
side  of  the  streamlet,  a  band  of  about  one  hundred  horse- 
men, who  instantly  darted  off  in  pursuit  of  the  villagers. 

"Excellent!"  cried  Gertraud.  "That  is  the  device 
managed  by  my  gallant  Diedrich  —  see  now  —  how  the 
horsemen  charge  down  on  the  villagers.  There,  they  have 
come  up  with  them,  and  now  begins  the  work  of  blood. 
The  villagers  seek  to  hold  fast  together  ;  but  they  never 
can  stand  against  the  weight  of  men,  and  horse,  and 
point  of  spear.  No  !  —  down  they  go,  as  the  ripe  corn 
falls  before  the  sickle  of  the  reaper.  See,  now  they  are 
broken.  They  are  slashed  down  with  the  sword  —  they 
are  transfixed  by  the  lance.  They  fight  well  too ;  but 
they  fall  fighting.  See,  where  they  stood  together  there 
are  but  mangled  heaps  of  corpses,  and  now  they  run  — 
they  have  thrown  down  their  shields  to  enable  them  to 
fly  the  quicker ;  but  the  horses  are  after  them,  and  on 
them,  wherever  they  go.  See,  now  they  lie  on  all  sides 
—  some  run  for  safety  to  the  wood,  where  the  horsemen 
hid  themselves  —  and  look,  it  is  now  as  I  told  you,  not 
one  in  twenty  will  ever  live  to  cross  that  streamlet  —  O, 
brave  Diedrich  —  victory!  victory." 

"  Demon  !  or  woman  !  whichever  you  are  !  "  cried  the 
infuriated  Gretchen,  "  cease  your  babbling  ;  and,  if  you 
have  a  spark  of  feeling  in  your  heart,  help  me  to  bear 
the  Lady  Beatrice  to  her  chamber.  Look  !  she  has  faint- 
ed. You  might  have  perceived  it  long  since,  if  you  did 
not  deUght  so  much  in  the  sight  of  inhuman  butchery." 

"  Alack  !  "  answered  Gertraud,  with  as  little  sympa- 
thy for  the  cause  of  Beatrice's  fainting  as  the  veteran 


232         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROE. 

sailor  feels  for  the  landsman  when  enduring  the  agony 
of  sea-sickness.  "Alack!  I  forgot  the  delicate  young 
lady  had  never  before  seen  men  battling  with  each  other 
—  life  against  life.  It  is  a  fine  thing,  however,  although 
tender-reared  women  don't  like  to  look  at  it.  Come, 
Gretchen,  I  will  not  merely  help  you,  but  I  will  reheve 
you  of  the  burden  altogether.  I  will  carry  her  myself^ 
unaided  by  you." 

So  speaking,  the  muscular  Gertraud  raised  Beatrice 
in  her  arms,  and  bore  her  from  the  ramparts  to  her  cham- 
ber, and  there,  placing  the  still  senseless  form  on  a 
couch,  she  turned  to  Gretchen,  and  said : 

"  Girl,  as  you  care  for  your  own  life  and  that  of  your 
mistress,  let  neither  of  you  venture,  during  the  coming 
night,  to  stir  a  step  outside  this  chamber.  Mind  —  that 
you  are  to  remain  here,  no  matter  what  noises  you  may 
hear,  or  however  boisterous  may  be  the  clamor  ai'ound 
you.  In  saying  this  to  you,  I  only  express  the  wish  of 
Magnus." 

"And  how  know  you,"  asked  Gretchen,  "the  wishes 
of  Magnus?" 

"  They  are  written  here,"  replied  Gertraud,  showing 
the  small  piece  of  parchment,  which  she  had  detached 
from  the  arrow  that  had  alighted  on  the  tower  whilst 
they  were  conversing  together.  "  His  words  are  few, 
but  very  intelligible.  I  shall  read  them  for  you,  as  it  is 
probable  you  are  not  as  well  educated  as  if  you  had  fled 
from  a  convent-school  to  a  camp.     They  are  these  :  — 

"  '  This  night  an  attempt  will  be  made  to  rescue  you. 
Do  not  stir  from  your  chamber.  Wave  your  veil  to  show 
that  this  has  reached  the  tower.  M.'  " 

"  O,  woman,  woman  !  "  cried  the  indignant  Gretchen  ; 
"  and  it  was  for  the  purpose  of  betraying  Magnus,  that 
you  asked  for  the  ycil  of  Beatrice." 


THE   FORTRESS   OP  ERZEGEBIRGE.  235 

**  By  no  means,"  replied  the  unshaken  Gertraud.  "  I 
only  waved  the  veil  to  show  that  his  missive  had  reached 
the  tower.  As  to  the  attempt  at  rescue,  the  waving  of 
the  veil  had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  That  attempt  will 
be  made,  though  your  mistress  never  wore  a  veil.  When 
it  is  made,  Magnus  entreats  that  she  may  remain  in  her 
chamber.  Very  well  —  let  her  do  so.  She  now  knows 
the  wishes  of  Magnus,  and  may  comply  with  them." 

**  But  why,  if  treachery  be  not  intended,  not  tell  her 
at  once  the  purport  of  the  message  sent  by  Magnus  ? " 
asked  Gretchen. 

"Because,"  replied  Gertraud,  "she  is  such  a  poor, 
weak,  nervous,  timid  girl,  that  I  doubt  if  even  you, 
who  know  his  wishes,  will  communicate  them  to  her; 
because,  I  think,  that  you  will  deem  it  to  be  more  pru- 
dent to  induce  her  to  remain  quiet,  without  telling  her 
the  reason  for  so  doing,  until  the  danger  is  over,  than, 
by  explaining  the  cause,  add  to  her  apprehensions,  and 
uselessly  excite  her  fears.  These  were  the  reasons  for 
my  silence.  I  marvel  if  they  will  not  induce  you  to  be 
silent  also." 

"  Circumstances  must  guide  my  conduct,"  said  Gretch- 
en. "  Leave  me  the  missive,  in  order  that  if  I  should 
deem  it  prudent,  I  may  show  it  to  the  Lady  Beatrice." 

"  I  cannot  do  that,"  answered  Gertraud,  "  for  I  have 
to  show  these  lines  to  Diedrich." 

"  To  Diedrich !  O,  heavens !  then  we  are  destroyed. 
You  mean  to  betray  us  to  Diedrich,"  cried  Gretchen. 

"  Betray  you  !  nonsense  !  "  answered  Gertraud.  — 
"  What  confidence  have  you  reposed  in  me  that  I  am 
about  to  betray  ?  I  told  you  fairly  that  I  was  a  spy  upon 
you ;  and  the  object  with  Avhich  I  joined  you.  I  have 
now  attained  that  object.     I  have  discovered  that  Mag- 


234         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEEOR. 

nus  intends  to  rescue  Beatrice  this  night.  He  does  right 
in  making  such  an  attempt.  It  is  the  duty  of  Diedrich 
to  render  that  attempt  abortive,  and  it  is  my  duty,  as  the 
spy  of  Diedi-ich,  to  give  him  such  information,  as  may 
enable  him  to  fulfil  the  task  he  undertook,  when  the 
care  of  Beatrice  was  confided  to  him.  I  am  but  per- 
forming my  duty.  Do  you  yours,  by  taking  better  care 
of  your  mistress,  and  not  leaving  her  so  long  untended, 
and  she  in  a  fainting  fit." 

*'  O,  this  is  terrible,  most  terrible !  "  cried  Gretchen, 
wringing  her  hands  in  agony.  "  The  Duke  Magnus  will 
be  slain,  and  we  have  not  the  means  of  warning  him  of 
his  danger." 

"  There  is  no  use  in  those  tears,"  said  Gertraud.  **  No 
man  can  die  more  beseemingly  than  with  a  sword  in  his 
hand,  and  facing  an  enemy.  I  have  seen  Magnus  —  I 
like  him,  and  in  communicating  this  intelligence  to 
Diedrich,  I  intend  to  beg  of  him,  as  he  loves  me,  not 
to  kill  Magnus  —  if  he  possibly  can  avoid  doing  so.  Let 
that  thought  console  you.  It  is  all  I  can  say  to  you,  or 
do  for  you.  And  now,"  said  Gertraud,  as  she  quitted 
the  chamber,  "I  go  with  all  speed  to  Diedrich,  the 
bravest  soldier  and  the  best  captain  in  the  army  of  King 
Henry." 


CHAPTER    XYIII. 

THE    NIGHT    ATTACK. 

Two  persons  sat  side  by  side  at  a  table  m  a  richly  fur- 
nished apartment  in  the  fortress  of  Erzegebirge.     Before 


THE   NIGHT  ATTACK.  235 

them  were  large  flasks  and  golden  goblets  filled  with 
wine,  which  ever  and  anon  were  raised  to  their  lips. 
One  of  these  Avas  Diedrich  ;  the  other  Gertraud.  He 
seemed  to  be  lost  in  thought,  and  Gertraud,  absorbed  in 
the  contemplation  of  his  hideous  features.  Both  were 
silent,  for  he  had  not,  as  yet,  acknowledged  her  presence 
since  she  had  entered  the  room ;  but,  by  nodding  his 
head,  and  pointing  to  a  seat  and  the  wine  cup,  which 
she  was  aware  —  from  long  habit  —  were  to  be  construed 
into  an  intimation  that  it  was  his  pleasure  she  should  sit 
beside  him,  and  drink  with  him. 

The  silence  was,  at  length,  broken  by  Diedrich,  who 
having,  at  one  draught,  swallowed  down  a  pint  of  wine, 
said,  without  looking  at  her : 

"  Any  news  ^  " 

Gertraud  replied  to  the  question,  not  in  words,  but 
by  placing  in  his  hand  the  missive  from  Magnus,  which 
she  had  intercepted, 

Diedrich  read  it  over  word  for  word  deliberately  — 
so  deliberately,  that  he  took  as  long  a  time  in  spelling 
through  each  word,  as  a  modern  reader  would  in  running 
his  eye  over  a  page  of  a  book.  Having  thus  read  it  over 
—  he  held  it  in  his  hand  —  filled  out  another  larare  srob- 
let  of  wine  —  tossed  it  down  his  throat  —  then  paused 
for  a  few  minutes.  Again  unfolded  the  piece  of  parch- 
ment—  and,  having  again  re-perused  it,  he  tossed  it 
back  in  the  direction  in  which  Gertraud  was  sitting,  and 
gave  utterance  to  the  single  word  — 

"Good!" 

He  then  drew  forth  his  dagger,  and  began  drawing 
lines  with  it  on  the  table  —  marking  carefully,  by  in- 
dentations on  the  knob  of  the  hilt,  the  spaces  between 
the  different  lines  —  he  rested  his  two  elbows  on  the 


236  THE   POPE   AND   THE  EMPEPvOR. 

table;,  and  placing  his  head  between  his  hands,  and  fix- 
ing his  eyes  on  those  lines,  he  commenced  studying 
them  with  as  much  attention  as  if  there  had  been  pro- 
posed to  him,  for  the  first  time,  the  solution  of  a  difficult 
problem  in  Euclid.  Had  he  thought  of  Gertraud  — 
had  he  looked  up  at  her,  whilst  he  was  thus  occupied, 
even  he  could  not  but  be  surprised  to  perceive,  with 
what  reverential  admiration  her  eyes  were  fixed  iipon 
him. 

His  thoughts,  however,  were  not  for  her  —  they  were 
all  taken  up  with  his  calculations  ;  and,  until  he  had 
concluded  them,  he  never  again  raised  his  eyes  from  the 
table.  At  length,  his  hand  stretched  out  mechanically 
to  the  wine  cup,  and  without  looking  at  it,  he  placed  it 
to  his  lips.     It  was  empty. 

"  Bad !  "  growled  Diedrich,  at  the  disappointment ; 
and  his  eye  fell  angrily  on  Gertraud. 

"  I  feared  to  disturb  you,  by  moving,"  said  Gertraud, 
"  otherwise  I  should  have  poured  out  wine  for  you." 

Diedrich  made  no  answer,  but  held  out  the  goblet, 
and  Gertraud  filled  it  with  wine.  He  drank  off  the  wine, 
and  then  looked  up  at  her,  as  if  wishing  to  know  if  she 
had  any  thing  to  say  to  him. 

"  May  I  now  speak  to  you  ?  "  asked  Gertraud. 

Diedrich  nodded  his  head. 

"  I  suppose  that  Magnus  hopes  to  take  the  castle  by 
surprise,  when  he  says  that  he  will  rescue  Beatrice  to- 
night." 

Diedrich  again  nodded. 

"  You  have  now  been  devising  the  means,  whereby 
not  only  his  attack  will  be  defeated,  but  the  assailants 
destroyed." 

Diechich's  nod  again  intimated  his  absent. 


THE  NIGHT   ATTACK.  23T 

"  Have  you  taken  into  your  calculation  that  the  ham- 
let, which  this  day's  doings  rendered  hostile  to  you,  will 
serve  as  a  sure  place  of  retreat  to  Magnus  and  his  friends 
when  defeated  by  you  ?  " 

Diedrich's  assenting  nod  followed  those  words. 

"  Very  well,  then,"  said  Gertraud,  "  I  consider  their 
defeat  now  as  certain  as  if  I  saw  them  already  beaten 
back  from  the  walls  ;  but,  in  the  coming  engagement, 
there  is  one  favor  I  have  to  ask  of  you,  Avhich  I  hope 
you  will  grant  me,  especially,  as  I  can  show  you  that  it 
is  for  your  interest  not  to  refuse  it  —  that  doing  as  I 
suggest,  will  win  you  the  respect  and  gratitude  of  the 
king." 

Diedrich  stared  in  amazement  at  Gertraud,  but  said 
nothing. 

"  Magnus  comes  here  as  a  soldier,  to  attack  you,  a 
soldier.  Betrothed  to  Beatrice,  he  wishes  to  rescue  her 
from  the  grasp  of  the  king.  He  bears  no  animosity  to 
you  —  he  merely  seeks  to  take  from  you  that  which  is 
his,  but  the  safe  custody  of  which  has  been  intrusted  to 
you  by  another,  and  which  you  therefore  are  bound  to 
guard.  Respect  Magnus,  then,  as  discharging  his  duty. 
If  you  meet  him  in  combat,  try  to  make  him  your  pris- 
oner :  do  not,  I  beseech  you,  unless  it  be  to  save  your 
own  life,  take  his.     Spare  Magnus " 

"  Spare  Magnus ! "  exclaimed  Diedricli,  in  utter  as- 
tonishment, and  departing  from  his  usual  taciturnity  at 
the  strange  proposition  made  to  him,  that  he  should 
show  any  mercy  to  a  member  of  a  family  whom  he 
knew  Henry  was  anxious  to  destroy. 

"Yes  —  I  repeat  it  —  spare  Magnus;  for  Magnus, 
once  killed,  his  corpse  is  as  worthless  as  that  of  the 
poorest,  meanest,  and  most  contemptible  wretch  slain 


238  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

this  day  by  your  soldiers  ;  but  Magnus  living  —  a  pris- 
oner in  your  hands  —  is  a  captive  duke,  whose  person 
may  be  valued  at  the  price  of  a  principality,  and  whose 
liberty  cannot  be  bought  but  with  a  countless  treasure. 
Make  him  captive  —  place  him  a  prisoner  in  the  hands 
of  the  king,  and  you  bestow  upon  your  sovereign  the 
means  of  exacting  submission  even  from  Otho,  the  un- 
cle of  Magnus,  who  is  now  at  the  head  of  the  Saxon 
rebels." 

"  Humph  ! "  grunted  Diedrich,  as  he  rose  from  the 
table,  and  grasped  a  huge  battle-axe  in  his  hand. 

"And  now,"  said  Gertraud,  ''tell  me  what  you  desire 
me  to  do  when  the  fortress  is  attacked.  Where  shall  I 
station  myself  ? " 

"  With  the  other  women,"  answered  Diedrich.  "  Go 
to  bed." 

And  uttering  these  words,  he  quitted  the  room. 

"  Even  in  the  midst  of  his  cares  as  a  captain,"  said 
Gertraud,  looking  with  wonder  and  admiration  upon 
Diedrich,  *'  he  can  be  jocose !  What  a  wag !  Go  to 
bed  —  to  listen  to  the  clashing  of  sword  and  shield !  No 
—  Diedrich  —  that  is  an  order  which  you  gave  to  me 
as  a  woman.  But  I  have  also  to  perform  my  part  as  a 
soldier  ;  and  amongst  other  things  I  have  to  do,  is  — 
to  watch  that  no  harm  may  befall  you." 

She  hastened,  as  she  spoke,  in  the  direction  towards 
which  she  had  seen  Diedrich  proceeding. 

The  missive,  that  Gertraud  had  so  unfortunately  in- 
tercepted, told  the  truth. 

No  sooner  had  Magnus  ascertained  that  the  place  des- 
tined for  the  detention  of  Beatrice  was  the  fortress  of 
Erzegebirge,  than  he  returned  to  his  uncle,  the  Duke  of 
Bavaria,  for  the  purpose  of  procuring  an  armed  force. 


THE  NIGHT  ATTACK.  239 

sufficient,  by  its  numbers,  to  secure  tbe  conquest  of  any 
fortress,  no  matter  how  strongly  it  might  be  defended 
by  nature,  or  by  the  bravery  of  its  garrison.  The  hopes 
of  Magnus  in  this  respect  were  doomed  to  disappoint- 
ment ;  for  the  proceedings  of  the  king,  in  having  Otho 
declared  a  traitor,  and  next  in  invading  his  lands,  com- 
pelled both  the  uncle  and  nephew  to  engage  in  a  defen- 
sive war,  which  was  at  last  crowned  with  success  by  the 
decisive  victory  of  Henschenwege.  The  first  use  that 
Otho  and  Magnus  made  of  that  victory,  was  to  send  a 
detachment,  commanded  by  the  latter,  to  Erzegebirge, 
and  it  was  the  anxiety  of  INIagnus  to  save  Beatrice  from 
any  personal  danger  in  the  attempt  to  storm  the  fortress, 
that  induced  him  to  warn  her,  in  the  manner  already 
described,  of  the  contemplated  attack.  From  the  man- 
ner in  which  his  message  was  responded  to,  he  calcu- 
lated that  no  one  was  apprised  of  the  dangerous  enter- 
prise, in  which  he  risked  his  life,  but  Beatrice  and  her 
attendant.  He  had  just  reason  for  supposing  that  such 
was  the  case  ;  for,  although  the  fortress  was  watched  on 
all  sides  by  his  spies,  as  long  as  there  was  the  light  of 
day  to  assist  them  in  their  observations,  there  was  no 
stir  and  no  movement  upon  the  battlements  to  indicate 
that  any  additional  preparations  were  making  for  de- 
fence, or  that  any  suspicion  was  entertained  by  the  com- 
mander, Diedrich,  that  there  was  a  large  body  of  his 
foes  collected  in  his  immediate  neighborhood. 

Bernhard,  who  had  proved  his  skill  as  a  jjowman,  in 
sending  the  arrow  to  the  tower  on  which  he  had  seen 
Beatrice,  assured  Magnus  that  the  scarf,  which,  a  moment 
before,  was  worn  by  Beatrice,  had  been  waved  in  return, 
not  by  her,  but  by  a  dark-haired  woman,  and  therefore 
there  could  be  no  doubt  but  the  message  had  been  read. 


240         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

when  it  "vras  so  promptly  and  punctually  responded  to. 
Magnus,  who  did  not  know  the  appearance  of  Gretchen, 
concluded  that  "the  dark-haired  woman"  was  the  at- 
tendant upon  Beatrice,  and  therefore  had  no  fears  for 
the  safety  of  his  beloved.  It  was,  then,  with  feelings  of 
impatience  he  saw  the  hours  of  the  day  pass  so  slowly 
away,  and  as  darkness  fell  upon  the  earth,  he  mustered 
the  men  under  his  command  —  in  all,  three  thousand 
Saxons,  who  were  to  act  as  the  assailing  party;  whilst 
he  retained,  as  a  reserve,  on  the  level  ground,  five  hun- 
dred horse,  who  were  ordered,  in  case  he  was  killed,  and 
the  infantry  driven  back,  to  come  to  their  rescue ;  and 
then,  having  saved  them,  to  make  good  their  retreat  to 
the  hamlet. 

Having  thus  made    his   arrangements,   as  a  general^ 
Magnus  resolved,  for  the  remainder  of  the  night,  to  per 
form  the  part  of  the  soldier,  and  to  be,  if  it  were  possi 
ble,  the  very  first  to  climb  the  wall  of  the  garrison,  and 
to  gain  possession  of  so  important  a  stronghold  for  his 
countrymen. 

The  time  fixed  by  Magnus  for  the  commencement  of 
the  attack,  was  the  hour  of  midnight.  At  the  same 
moment,  and  in  pursuance  of  his  directions,  the  three 
thousand  Saxons  commenced  climbing  up  the  precipitous 
and  rocky  sides  of  the  steep  hill,  on  which  the  fortress 
was  erected.  Silently,  but  slowly,  they  crept  up,  step 
by  step,  holding  fast  to  each  projecting  point  by  their 
right  hands,  whilst,  in  their  left,  they  carried  the  arms 
with  which  they  meant  to  assail  the  garrison.  Amid 
this  little  army  of  climbing  men  there  was  but  one 
thought  —  that  they  might  have  the  opportunity  of  at- 
tacking, and  taking  desperate  vengeance  upon  those  who 
had  that  day  slaughtered  their  countrymnn.     As  they 


THE   NIGHT  ATTACK.  241 

mounted,  they  rejoiced  to  perceive  that  there  was  perfect 
stillness  in  the  place  they  were  on  the  point  of  assailing. 
All,  at  length,  reached  the  top  of  the  hill,  and  stood 
fronting  the  wall  of  the  fortress,  from  which  they  were 
only  separated  by  a  narrow  fosse,  which  surrounded  the 
castle  on  all  sides. 

Magnus  here  placed  them  in  line,  and  had  given  them 
directions  to  make  a  charge,  with  the  words,  "  God  and 
the  Saxon  land,"  when  there  shot  suddenly  forth,  from 
all  the  battlements,  javelins,  with  blazing  lights  attached 
to  them,  and  which,  at  the  same  time,  struck  down  sev- 
eral men,  and  served  to  show  to  the  defenders  the  num- 
bers and  precise  positions  occupied  by  the  assailants. 
A  few  groans  had  been  uttered  by  the  wounded,  when 
there  came  pouring  down  upon  the  heads  of  the  Saxons 
enormous  stones,  discharged  by  machines  of  war,  and 
flights  of  spears,  Avhilst  the  whole  wall  itself  seemed  to 
open  ;  the  rugged  surface  being,  as  it  were,  split  with 
innumerable  arhallistcria  for  the  cross-bowmen,  and 
urcheria  for  the  archers  ;  and  then  came,  darting  direct 
at  the  faces,  or  at  the  bodies  of  the  Saxons,  the  hallota, 
or  leaden  bullets,  the  thick  arrows  from  cross-bows,  with 
javeHns,  and  small  stones,  and  thin  darts,  which  left  a 
deadly  wound  in  every  man  they  touched.  No  helmet, 
no  hauberk,  and  no  shield,  availed  here,  for  such  was 
the  strength  and  force  with  which  all  things,  discharged 
by  the  balearic  machines,  were  sent,  that  they  not  merely 
wounded,  but  they  crushed  down  to  the  earth,  a  mangled 
mass,  the  person  upon  whom  they  fell,  or  they  bore  him 
and  all,  to  the  rearmost  rank,  from  their  position,  and 
sent  them  tumbling  down  the  precipice  behind  them, 
deprived  of  life,  long  before  their  bodies  could  reach  the 
level  earth. 

21 


242         THE  rOPE  AND  THE  EMPEROB 

At  one  moment  \ras  seen  the  sky,  lighted  up  by 
burning  darts,  and  then  followed,  as  it  were,  a  shower 
of  stones,  arrows,  and  other  missiles,  rattling  heavily 
against  shields,  helmets,  and  cuirasses ;  and  then  shrieks 
of  agony,  and  of  horror  ;  and,  in  a  moment  afterwards, 
the  platform  was,  with  one  or  two  exceptions,  cleared  of 
the  men  who  had  so  recently  stood  there,  full  of  life  and 
com'age,  but  who  were  now  swept  away,  despite  of  them- 
selves, by  this  outburst  of  destruction,  which  they  could 
no  more  resist  than  the  weak  and  fragile  dam,  erected 
to  restrain  the  summer  stream,  can  withstand  the  rush 
of  water  that  the  rains  of  winter  have  swelled  into  an 
impetuous  and  overflowing  river. 

Of  all  the  Saxons,  thus  whirled  down  the  precipitous 
steeps  they  had  but  a  few  moments  before  ascended,  two 
alone  stood  in  safety  fronting  the  wall.  These  were 
Magnus  and  Bernhard. 

"  Well !  "  said  Bernhard,  "  it  is  plain  that  your  mis- 
sive must  have  Mien  into  wrong  hands." 

"  Alas  !  "  exclaimed  Magnus,  "  for  my  brave  Saxons 
Do  you,  Bernhard,  escape,  if  you  can  —  as  to  me,  I  will 
stay  here  to  be  shot  down.     My  men  are  slain,  I  will 
not  outlive  them." 

Scarcely  had  he  uttered  these  Avords  when  he  found 
Diedrich,  Gertraud,  and  a  hundred  men  from  the  garri- 
son before  him.  His  words  were  interrupted  by  the 
loud  voice  of  Diedrich  giving  the  command. 

"  Down  the  hill  after  them.  Slay  all  you  overtake. 
Show  no  mercy.     Make  no  prisoners." 

"Ah!"  said  Magnus,  "thank  Heaven,  I  shall  not 
die  unavenged.  Come,  Bernhard,  let  us  both  strike  at 
once  at  this  merciless  villain  —  do  you  aim  at  his  heart 
—  I  will  strike  at  his  head." 


THE   NIGHT  ATTACK.  243 

As  Magnus  spoke  these  words,  Diedricli  perceived 
him  and  his  companion.  Diedrich's  soldiers,  in  pursu- 
ance of  his  command,  had  left  him  ;  and  he  now  stood 
alone  with  the  camp-follower,  Gertraud,  by  his  side. 

"  He,  with  the  helmet  of  burnished  gold,  is  Magnus," 
said  Gertraud. 

Diedrich  had  not  time  to  answer  her,  when  the  rush 
upon  him  was  made  by  Magnus  and  Bernhard.  He 
surmised  the  intention  of  both,  and,  at  the  same  instant, 
parried  the  blow  of  Magnus  with  his  sword,  and  re- 
ceived the  thrust  of  Bernhard  on  his  shield.  The  blow 
of  the  latter  was  replied  to  by  Gertraud,  who,  striking 
Bernhard  heavily  with  her  sword  on'  the  helmet,  sent 
him  reeling  back  a  couple  of  yards  from  Diedrich. 

Diedrich  perceived  that  the  blow  of  Gertraud  had 
disembarrassed  him  of  a  second  assailant.  Instead, 
however,  of  striking  at  iSlagnus,  he  dropped  the  point 
of  his  sword  to  the  ground,  and  said  — 

"  A  moment's  truce  —  you  are,  I  believe,  Duke 
Magnus." 

"  I  am,"  answered  the  youth. 

"  Then  yield  yourself  a  prisoner.  I  promise  to  spare 
your  Hfe." 

"  Never,"  said  Magnus,  "  shall  I  be  in  your  power." 

With  these  words  Magnus  again  raised  his  sword,  and 
waiting  until  Diedrich  had  crossed  blade  with  blade,  he 
said  — 

"  Now  —  butcher  of  King  Henry,  defend  yourself. 
I  want  your  life,  take  mine  if  you  can." 

''Boy!"  exclaimed  Diedrich.  "You  are  my  pris- 
oner ;  "  and,  as  he  pronounced  the  word  "  boy,"  he  ran 
his  sword,  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning,  and  with  such 
tremendous   force,  down    upon   the   hilt   of  Magnus's 


244         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

sword,  that  it  crushed  the  muscles  of  his  opponent's 
hand,  and  sent  the  sword  itself  from  his  grasp  with  a 
shivering  thrill  of  agony,  so  that  Magnus  felt  the  iron 
gripe  of  Diedrich  was  upon  his  left  hand,  and  in  an  in- 
stant afterwards,  that  his  arms  were  tied  behind  him. 

"  You  are  now  my  prisoner,"  said  Diedrich.  "  I  spare 
your  life,  because  I  believe  the  king  wishes  me  to  do  so. 
Say  that  you  yield,  and  I  will  at  once  unbind  you  ;  for  I 
do  not  desire  to  dishonor  one  of  your  rank  with  these 
gyves." 

"'  I  yield,"  said  Magnus.  "  I  cannot  avoid  doing  so  ; 
and  though  I  would  prefer  death  to  captivity,  still  I  sub- 
mit with  patience  to  that  hard  trial  which  God  has  or- 
dained I  should  submit  to." 

"  Good  !  "  said  Diedrich,  at  once  unbinding  his  pris- 
oner, and  looking  round  to  see  what  had  become  of 
Gertraud  and  her  opponent. 

Meanwhile,  Gertraud  having  by  a  single  blow  driven 
back  Bernhard,  she,  for  the  purpose  of  leaving  Diedrich 
free  to  carry  on  his  conflict  with  Magnus,  followed  Bern- 
hard,  intenduig,  if  she  possibly  could,  to  despatch  him. 
With  this  object  she  again  rushed  upon  him,  and  aimed 
a  second  blow  at  his  head  —  it  was  met  by  the  shield  of 
Bernhard,  who,  at  the  same  instant,  came  with  his  own 
sword  upon  the  helmet  of  Gertraud  with  siich  force,  that 
the  blow  felled  her  to  the  earth,  and  her  helmet  tum- 
bling off,  her  dark,  curling  hair  fell  in  clusters  over  her 
now  pale  face,  as  she  lay  stretched  upon  the  earth,  and 
arrested  the  attention  of  Bernhard  at  the  very  moment 
that  he  had  raised  his  sword  for  the  purpose  of  striking 
a  deadly  blow. 

*'  Good  heavens !"  he  exclaimed  —  "  this  is  a  woman  ! 
Poor  creature  !  I  suppose  she  is  attached  to  this  monster 


THE  NIGHT  ATTACK.  245 

Diedricli.     I  respect  her  fidelity,  as  I  would  that  of  the 
dog  that  fights  for  its  master." 

And  with  this  compliment  to  the  female  warrior,  the 
honest  Bernhard  sheathed  his  sword,  stooped  down,  and 
began  chafing  the  hands  and  forehead  of  Gertraud,  in 
the  hope  of  restoring  animation. 

Gertraud  opened  her  eyes  whilst  Bernhard  was  thus 
employed.  His  attitude  and  his  look  showed  to  her  the 
compassionate  feelings  that  animated  him,  and  she,  on 
the  instant,  resolved,  if  she  could,  to  save  his  life  who 
had  spared  hers. 

"  You  are,"  she  said,  '*  an  honest,  true-hearted,  brave 
fellow.  Here,  take  this  helmet  of  mine  —  it  is  the  same 
as  that  worn  by  our  soldiers,  and  may  serve  to  save  you 
from  their  swords  ;  for  they  are  now  as  a  hundred  to  one 
against  you.  Down,"  she  continued,  "  down  by  this 
by-path.  If  you  are  challenged  —  the  pass-word, 
*  Gertraud,''  will  procure  you  a  free  passage.  The  life 
of  Magnus  is  safe  as  long  as  he  is  the  prisoner  of  Die- 
dricli. Hasten  you  to  the  camp  of  Otho,  and  tell  him 
what  has  befallen  your  leader  and  companions.  Hasten 
—  hasten  away.  If  Diedrich  sees  you  living  I  cannot 
save  you  from  his  rage." 

As  she  said  these  words,  she  removed  the  helmet  of 
Bernhard,  and  replaced  it  with  her  own.  Bernhard 
looked  around.  He  saw  Magnus,  w^ith  his  arms  tied 
behind  him,  and  Diedrich,  with  a  drawn  sword,  standing 
before  his  captive.  This  sight  at  once  convinced  him 
that  the  only  course  for  him  to  pursue  was  that  suggest- 
ed by  Gertraud. 

"  Farewell,"   he   said,  as  he   disaj)peared   down   the 
precipitous  path  pointed  out  to  him.     "Farewell  —  I 
trust  we  may  meet  again  soon." 
21* 


246  THE   POPE  AND   THE  EMPEPvOR. 

"  Then  if  we  do,"  answered  Gertraud,  "  I  trust  it 
may  be  in  the  field  of  battle,  where  I  may  return  to  you 
the  heavy  blow  which  makes  my  head  still  ring  with 
pain." 

"  Be  it  so,"  said  Bernhard ;  "  so  that  we  do  meet. 
But  be  you  what  you  may,  I  shall  ever  feel  that  you 
have  done  your  utmost  to  save  my  life  ;  and  my  sword 
shall  never  again  be  lifted  against  you.     Farewell." 

"  Farewell !  "  cried  Gertraud  ;  and,  as  she  spoke  the 
word,  her  eyes  filled  with  tears  —  the  first  tears  that  had 
bedewed  them  for  many  a  year. 

Gertraud's  broad,  brown  hand  was  raised  to  her  face. 
She  dashed  away,  with  a  feeling  akin  to  indignation, 
those  symptoms  of  womanly  weakness,  and  murmured, 
with  a  softened  voice  :  — 

*'  Tears !  —  I  have  never  shed  tears  since  I  was  at 
school  in  the  convent  —  since  I  was  a  girl  — since  I  was 
innocent  —  since  I  first  hardened  my  heart  against  all  I 
once  was  taught,  and  once  believed ;  and,  can  it  be  that 
I  am  now  changing  ?  No,  no,  no  —  change  !  impossi- 
ble !  It  is  the  wicked  knock  on  the  head  which  the 
hand  of  that  honest  fellow  has  given  me,  that  makes  me 
cry.  But  if  I  were  what  I  once  was,  and  still  ought  to 
be,  what  a  good  husband  that  strong-handed  Saxon 
would  be  !     Alas  ! " 

"  Ho !  Gertraud,"  exclaimed  Diedrich,  perceiving, 
when  he  had  unbound  Magnus,  that  his  camp-follower 
was  alone,  "  what  has  become  of  the  Saxon  ? " 

"  He  is  gone  down  the  precipice  after  the  rest  of  his 
companions,"  answered  Gertraud. 

"  What !  is  it  possible,"  said  Magnus,  *'  that  the 
sturdy  Bernhard  could  have  been  slain  by  a  woman  ?  " 

"  He  knocked  off  my  helmet,"  answered  Gertraud, 


THE  KING  AND  DUKE  MAGNUS.        247 

*f  you  may  perceive  that  I  now  wear  his.  I  intend  to 
preserve  it  as  a  trophy." 

«  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  have  actually  slain  my 
follower  ?  "  asked  Magnus. 

"  I  mean  to  assert,"  answered  Gertraud,  "  he  might, 
but  for  me,  be  now  living  on  this  platform  of  rock  ; 
whether  he  will  reach  the  bottom  of  the  precipice  living 
or  dead,  you  may  guess." 

"O,  miserable  night!"  cried  Magnus,  "then  I  am 
the  dishonored  survivor  of  three  thousand  valiant  Sax- 
ons !  " 

"  Brave  Gertraud,"  said  Diedrich. 

"  Never  lament  the  fortune  of  war,"  said  Gertraud,  as 
she  approached  to  ^lagnus,  and  whispered  in  his  ear  — 
*«Bernhard  has  escaped  —  I  aided  him  —  be  silent." 

"As  your  prisoner,"  said  Magnus  to  Diedrich,  "I 
am  ready  to  be  conducted  to  any  cell  you  may  appoint." 

"  Follow,"  said  Diedrich,  as  he  led  the  way  within 
the  postern  of  the  fortress. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

THE  KING  AND  DUKE  MAGNUS. 

The  course  of  policy  which  Henry  had  marked  out  for 
himself  »to  pursue,  with  respect  to  the  Saxons,  had  been 
crowned  with  complete  success.  He  had  calculated  that 
his  demands  for  tithes  to  himself,  as  well  as  tithes  to  be 
paid  to  the  Archbishop  of  Mayence,  being  alike  an  im- 
poverishment of  the  Saxon  church,  and  a  diminution. 


248  THE   POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

of  the  means  of  sustaining  religion,  its  ministers,  its 
churches,  and  the  Saxon  poor,  who  looked  to  the  monas- 
teries for  relief  and  subsistence,  would,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  excite  discontent  in  the  minds  of  the  prelates, 
priests,  monks,  and  people  of  Saxony.  He  insisted 
upon  having  tithes  upon  every  thing  to  be  found  in  the 
field,  the  farm-yard,  the  pasture-ground,  the  garden,  and 
the  orchard ;  and,  as  in  Saxony  there  were  to  be  seen 
whole  districts,  or  tithings,  consisting  of  none  but  free 
peasants,  of  those  who  were  unprotected  by  any  vassal- 
age to  lay-lords,  or  to  churchmen,  the  exactions  of  the 
king  rendered  them,  in  their  poverty,  more  destitute, 
whilst  they  were  compelled  to  feel  that  they  were  dis- 
honored by  a  patient  submission  to  such  demands.  If 
they  manifested  the  slightest  unwillingness  to  comply 
with  the  requisitions  of  the  king's  officers,  they  were 
instantly  visited  by  detachments  from  the  various  for- 
tresses Henry  had  erected  in  Saxony :  the  young  men 
were  dragged  away  as  if  they  were  slaves,  and  com- 
pelled to  work  in  strengthening  the  walls  of  the  for- 
tresses —  the  houses  were  burned  down,  the  cattle  were 
cari'ied  off,  and  the  female  peasantry  were  subjected  to 
outrages  worse  than  death  itself. 

Henry  had  calculated  that  the  Saxons  would  be  thus 
forced  into  open  insurrection  against  his  supreme  author- 
ity ;  and  he  had  also  calculated  that  the  sympathies  of 
the  Saxon  nobility  and  prelacy,  as  well  as  their  interests, 
would  be  arrayed  against  him.  In  both  calculations, 
events  proved  that  he  was  correct.  Not  content  with 
oppressing  them  by  his  acts,  he  also  sought  to  provoke 
them  by  his  words,  declaring  them  to  be  "  a  nation  of 
slaves,  and  only  fitted  to  be  treated  as  slaves,"  and,  "  that 
when  Saxons  did  not  learn  to  conduct  themselves  like 


THE  KING  AND  DUKE   MAGNUS.  249 

their  ancestors,  who  were  slaves,  the  suitable,  and  the 
sole  treatment  for  them  was  to  punish  them  as  traitors." 

That,  then,  which  Henry  desired,  he  had  now  ob- 
tained. He  had  resolved  upon  reducing  the  whole  of 
the  Saxon  people  to  a  state  of  serfdom,  or  of  extirpating 
them  as  a  race ;  and  he  now  saw  within  his  grasp  the 
military  means  of  effecting  either  object.  Never  —  no 
—  not  even  in  the  time  of  Charlemagne,  had  there  been 
mustered  together  such  an  army  as  now  acknowledged 
him  as  their  superior  lord. 

"  I  pray  your  Majesty's  pardon,"  said  Lieman,  "  but 
here  comes,  I  fear,  that  which  you  most  dread  to  see,  an 
embassy  from  the  Saxons." 

"  What  mean  you  ?  "  exclaimed  Henry  ;  "  that  small 
detachment  of  soldiers  at  a  distance  ?  " 

"  The  same,"  replied  Lieman. 

"  jSTo  —  no,"  replied  Henry.  "These  are  not  Sax- 
ons. They  are  some  of  my  own  Frankish  warriors.  I 
can  recognize  them  even  at  this  distance,  by  their  freshly- 
painted  shields,  which,  in  accordance  with  my  commands, 
have  been  emblazoned  with  incidents  emblematic  of  the 
former  victories  won  by  Franks  from  the  Saxons.  Of  a 
verity,  I  cannot  be  mistaken  in  that,  no  more  than  in  the 
figure  of  their  commander.  It  is  my  true  and  trusty 
Diedrich.  I  marvel  what  can  have  brought  him  here. 
Erzegebirge  must  be  safe,  or  he  would  not  be  alive." 

"  He  has  a  prisoner  in  his  charge,"  said  Lieman.  "  It 
must  be  some  one  of  high  rank ;  for,  though  deprived 
of  his  sword,  the  young  man  rides  unbound  by  the  side 
of  Diedrich." 

"  I  am  impatient  to  speak  with  him,"  remarked  Henry, 
"  for  the  honest  Diedrich  is  sure  to  tell  me  a  fact  iu 
every  word  he  utters." 


250  THE  POPE   AND   THE  EMPEROR. 

A  few  minutes  afterwards,  DIedrich  was  seen  dis- 
mounting, with  his  noble  prisoner,  in  front  of  Henry, 
and  both  knelt  in  presence  of  the  king,  whilst  Diedrich 
said :  — 

*'  Duke  Magnus,  taken  prisoner  by  me  in  an  attack  on 
Erzegebirge." 

"  Rise,  Diedrich  —  and  you  also,  Duke  Magnus,"  ob- 
served Henry.  "  Accept,  Diedrich,  of  this  golden-hilted 
and  diamond-gemmed  sword.  It  is  the  price  I  pay  you 
for  sparing  the  life  of  one,  on  whom  I  place  such  value 
now — that  he  is  my  prisoner!^''  There  was  a  malig- 
nant smile  on  the  face  of  Henry  as  he  uttered  these  words, 
and  then  continued  —  "I  suppose  my  noble  prisoner, 
although  young  in  years,  and  little  practised  in  the  aftairs 
of  this  life,  is  aware  of  all  the  penalties  that  attach  to 
the  crime  of  treason.  I  imagine,  that  when  he  determined 
upon  drawing  his  sword  against  his  sovereign,  he  was 
prepared  not  merely  to  encounter  death  —  the  worst  that 
can  beMl  the  valiant  warrior  —  but  that  he  was  liable  to 
encounter  dishonor  —  the  deep  dishonor  that  is  alone 
reserved  for  traitors.  I  presume  that  he  has  heard  that 
princes,  that  dukes,  that  nobles  have,  before  now,  been  con- 
demned by  their  justly-offended  sovereigns  to  walk  from 
the  church  doors  where  the  last  rites  were  bestowed  upon 
them,  to  the  place  of  execution  —  the  borders  of  the 
district  in  which  they  have  been  condemned  —  that  they 
have  been  doomed  to  do  this  barefooted,  as  if  they  were 
beggars,  and,  at  the  same  time,  to  carry  a  dog  in  their 
arms,  thereby  to  intimate  to  the  Avorld,  that  they  were, 
when  living,  only  fit  to  associate  with  dogs,  and  dying, 
to  be  hung  as  dogs,  and  when  dead,  to  have  their  car- 
casses rotting  with  dogs.  I  presume  the  brave,  young, 
prudent  Duke  Magnus  calculated  that  such  might  be  his 


THE  KING  AND  DUKE  MAGNUS.        251 

fate,  if  lie  should  ever  stand  a  prisoner  before  his  right- 
ful sovereign." 

The  face  of  Magnus  flushed  with  indignation  when  he 
heard  himself  threatened  with  that  punishment  —  "  car- 
rying  a  dog"  —  the  most  infamous  that  at  that  period 
could  be  imposed  upon  a  man  of  noble  birth. 

"  I  calculated,"  replied  Magnus,  "  if  I  should  ever 
stand  in  your  presence  as  a  prisoner,  that  I  should  find 
in  you  neither  the  dignity  of  a  monarch,  the  generosity 
of  a  knight,  nor  the  compassion  of  a  man.  So  well  as- 
sured was  I  that  there  was  not  in  your  heart  one  particle 
of  that  tenderness  or  sympathy  which  a  truly  brave  man 
feels  for  the  misfortunes  of  another,  that  death  —  death 
in  its  most  dire  form  —  would  have  been  far  more  wel- 
come to  me  than  the  agony  of  this  moment,  in  which  I 
find  myself  a  prisoner  —  helpless,  swordless,  shieldless, 
companionless,  in  the  midst  of  an  enemy's  encampment, 
and  yet  taunted  by  its  commander  and  its  king,  because 
the  chances  of  war  have  made  me  his  captive.  O,  it  is 
base  —  very  base  —  so  base,  that  I  tell  you,  Henry,  I 
would  not  for  all  your  titles,  your  mighty  dominions, 
and  your  boundless  power,  exchange  positions  with  you 
at  this  moment.  Better,  I  tell  you,  to  be  Duke  Mag- 
nus, whose  honor  is  free  from  stain,  and  whose  reputa- 
tion is  unimpeached,  than  Henry  of  Germany,  whose 
name  is  seldom  pronounced  but  with  curses,  and  who  is 
such  a  braggart,  that  he  triumphs  in  the  captivity  of  an 
inexperienced  youth,  as  if  with  his  own  sword  he  had 
dispersed  an  army  of  his  enemies.  Yes  —  I  am  your 
prisoner ;  but  remember  this,  that  not  the  M^ealth  of  the 
Byzantine  Emperor  would  induce  me  to  exchange  con- 
ditions with  you,  even  for  an  hour.  Better  —  a  thousand 
times  better  —  to  be  as  I  am  now  —  thus  forlorn,  thus 


252  THE  POPE  AND   THE  EMPEROR. 

reproached  by  you  —  Magnus  the  prisoner,  than  Heniy 
the  King." 

"  Boy !  prater  !  traitor !  "  said  Henry,  scornfully  riding 
up  to  his  prisoner,  breasting  him  with  his  strong  war- 
horse,  and,  as  he  did  so,  half  unsheathing  his  dagger. 

Magnus  stood  firmly  in  the  position  in  which  he  had 
first  been  placed,  and  when  he  observed  the  king  grasp- 
ing his  dagger,  he  threw  back  his  own  arms,  and  clinch- 
ing his  hands  firmly  behind  him,  he  left  his  breast  fully 
exposed  to  Henry.  Thus  he  stood,  as  if  defying  the 
king,  and  not  condescending  to  defend  himself,  whilst 
he  again  addressed  Henry :  — 

"  Boy  !  prater !  traitor  !  So  you  have  called  me.  King 
Henry.  Boy,  I  may  be,  though  Diedrich  can  tell  you  I 
have  conducted  myself  in  no  unbeseeming  manner  as  a 
soldier;  boy,  I  have  been,  but  my  boyhood  has  not  been 
like  yours ;  for  it  has  been  unstained  by  dishonor,  and 
it  has  not  been  tarnished  by  a  single  tear  from  a  moth- 
er's eye.  Prater  I  am,  for  the  tongue  is  the  only  weapon 
which  the  captive  prisoner  is  free  to  use  against  an  un- 
generous, a  cruel,  and  unknightly  captor.  Traitor,  I 
never  have  been,  for  the  subject  never  can  be  a  traitor 
when  the  king  becomes  a  tyrant ;  in  such  a  case  the  trai- 
tor is  the  sovereign  who  forswears  himself,  and  who  uses 
the  powers  that  the  nation  has  confided  to  him  for  the 
protection  of  the  weak,  and  the  safeguard  of  justice,  to 
oppress  the  defenceless,  to  violate  the  sanctuaiy  of  home, 
to  despoil  the  church,  and  to  rob  the  poor.  He  who 
does  these  things  is  a  traitor,  the  worst  of  traitors,  for 
he  is  alike  a  traitor  to  his  Cod,  and  to  the  people.  Such 
a  traitor,  even  whilst  your  dagger  is  at  my  throat,  I  say 
you  are,  King  Henry.  Slay  me  for  telling  you  so,  the 
slaughter  of  an  unarmed  prisoner  by  your  own  hand  can 


THE   KING   AND   DUKE  MAGNUS.  253 

be  but  a  slight  addition  to  the  inflimy  that  ah-eady  at- 
taches to  your  name." 

The  bold  defiance  thus  given  to  Henry  by  Magnus  — 
the  utter  recklessness  of  life  so  exhibited  by  the  youth- 
ful hero,  produced  an  effect  the  very  contrary  of  that 
which  Magnus  had  calculated  upon.  Henry  perceived 
that  he  would  but  gratify  the  wishes  of  Magnus  in  slay- 
ing him  with  his  own  hand ;  that  Magnus  would  will- 
ingly, with  his  own  death,  procure  for  him  dishonor  — 
the  great  dishonor  of  being  himself  the  assassin  of  a 
prisoner  taken  in  battle.  For  this  dishonor  Henry  would 
have  cared  but  little,  if  he  had  inflicted  death  on  one 
who  feared  it;  but  it  was  otherwise  when  he  saw  that 
death  was  courted  by  one  he  detestei;  to  inflict  it  under 
such  circumstances  would  be  to  do  that  which  his  oppo- 
nent desired,  and  he  was  resolved  to  imbitter  the  suffer- 
ings of  all  who  thwarted  his  wishes,  or  opposed  his  de- 
signs. Instead  then  of  striking  his  dagger  into  the 
defenceless  breast  of  Magnus,  he  sheathed  it ;  and  back- 
ing his  horse  a  few  paces  from  his  noble  prisoner,  but 
still  fronting  him,  he  addressed  him  :  — 

"  Had  you  feared  death,  Magnus,  you  would  now  lie 
before  me  a  bleeding  corpse.  I  admire  your  bravery, 
even  though  it  be  exhibited  in  a  bad  cause.  I  will  not 
take  your  life.  Thus  it  is  that,  as  a  soldier,  I  show  re- 
spect to  your  courage  as  a  soldier.  I  am  not  that  tyrant 
which  you  have  been  taught  to  suppose  ;  and  which  you 
never  could  have  fancied  me  to  be  if  your  mind  had  not 
been  perverted  by  Duke  Otho.  As  one  brave  man  should 
esteem  another,  I  feel  for  you,  and  I  pity  you.  As  your 
sovereign,  and  considering  your  exalted  rank,  I  cannot, 
however,  wholly  pardon  you  for  taking  up  arms,  and 
seeking   the   destruction    of   the  paid   soldiers  of  your 


254         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

superior  lord.  I  might  punish  you  as  a  traitor ;  but  I  will 
not  do  so.  I  could  not  only  take  your  life,  but  degrade 
you,  in  the  manner  I  have  already  intimated." 

"  Degradation,"  said  Magnus,  ''  never  can  be  inflicted 
by  the  act  of  another,  if  it  be  not  the  consequence  of 
our  own  vices.  I  am  innocent  of  all  crime,  and  therefore 
I  defy  you." 

"  Listen  to  me  patiently,"  said  Henry,  "  or  I  shall 
fancy  that  I  have  been  speaking  merely  to  an  intemperate 
and  pei:t  boy,  and  not  to  a  brave  soldier.  I  will  not  de- 
grade you ;  but  I  cannot  forgive  you ;  so  far  am  I  from 
being  animated  with  hostility  towards  you,  that  I  desire 
even  to  bestow  upon  you  your  freedom,  if  you  will  be  but 
reasonable,  and  to  4et  you  go  forth  unquestioned  from 
this  encampment." 

"  And  what  are  the  conditions  ?  "  asked  Magnus,  im- 
petuously. "  If  they  include  the  abandonment  of  my 
pretensions  to  the  hand  of  her  whose  name  is  too  sacred 
to  be  mentioned  in  so  polluted  a  place  as  this,  I  will 
never  agree  to  them." 

"  Love-sick  youth !  "  said  Henry,  looking  down  with 
contempt  upon  Magnus ;  "  if  you  and  I,  and  she,  all 
stood  upon  terms  of  equality  with  each  other,  and  that 
she  were  free  to  choose  whom  she  would  prefer,  I  would 
willingly  contend  with  you  for  the  prize,  and  be  certain 
I  should  win  from  you  the  victory.  As  it  is,  however. 
I  will  not  condescend  to  discuss  with  you  a  topic,  which, 
for  aught  you  shall  know,  may  be  with  me  an  object 
that  engrosses  my  affections  —  a  passing  caprice,  or  a 
mere  fugitive  pastime.  I  thought  not  of  her,  when  I 
spoke  to  you  of  making  you  free.  You  sought  her  once, 
and  your  search  has  brought  you  to  my  feet  a  prisoner. 
Should  I  make  you  free,  you  may  again  seek  her,  and. 


THE   KIXCt  and    duke   MAGNUS.  255 

in  so  doing,  find  the  dagger  of  Diedricli  in  your  heart. 
Thus  much  I  tell  you,  that  you  may  know  that  the  con- 
ditions I  propose  have  nought  to  do  with  any  thing  that 
concerns  the  amours  of  your  sovereign." 

**  O,  rare  and  excellent  king !  "  exclaimed  ^Magnus, 
with  bitter  indignation,  "  How  happy  is  Germany  in 
having  such  a  sovereign !  But  speak  on  —  name  your 
conditions.  I  feel  assured  that  they  are,  before  you  tell 
them,  concocted  in  the  same  generous  spirit  in  which 
you  have  spoken  to  me." 

"  They  are  conditions  much  more  moderate  than  you 
are  entitled  to,"  answered  Henry.  "  Eemember,  you 
are  now  my  prisoner  —  that  I  can  retain  you  in  chains 
for  your  whole  life ;  and,  be  assured,  that  I  shall  do  so, 
if  you  do  not  agree  to  my  terms." 

"  Name  them,"  said  Magnus,  "  they  must  be  hard, 
indeed,  if  I  do  not  assent  to  them  —  when  I  bear  in 
mind,  that  once  agreed  to,  I  may  be  not  only  free,  but 
certain  never  again  to  meet  you  but  in  the  field  of  battle." 

"  The  conditions,"  observed  Henry,  "  on  which  I  am 
willing  to  set  you  free,  are  two  —  first,  that  you  here, 
and  in  the  presence  of  all  the  nobility  and  prelates  of 
the  empire,  renounce  the  Dukedom  of  Saxony,  which 
you  hold  from  your  father ;  and  secondly,  that  you  give 
up  to  me  all  the  lands  and  treasures  which  belong  to 
you  as  the  sole  and  rightful  heir  of  your  deceased 
parents." 

Magnus  looked  at  the  king  sternly  and  silently,  and 
the  gaze  of  the  youth  only  excited  a  smile  on  the  face  of 
the  monarch. 

"Your  Majesty,"  said  Magnus,  at  length  breaking 
silence,  "  names  these  as  the  only  conditions  upon  which 
you  will  set  me  free." 


256         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROK. 

''Upon  none  other,"  answered  Henry. 

Magnus  stretched  forth  his  hands,  firmly  clasped  to- 
gether, and  scornfully  said  — 

"  Then  place  your  manacles,  without  delay,  upon  the 
hands  of  your  prisoner.  Better,  O,  far  better,  that  every 
limb  should  wither  beneath  the  weight  of  the  chains 
imposed  upon  it,  than  that  my  reputation,  when  living, 
and  my  memory,  when  dead,  should  bear  the  brand  of 
the  infamy  you  would  place  upon  me.  Better,  the  dank 
and  noisome  cell,  that  will  slowly  poison  me  by  its  pes- 
tilential vapors,  than  the  one  willing  word,  uttered  by 
my  own  lips,  which  would  declare  me  the  unworthy  son 
of  worthy  ancestors  —  better  —  O,  a  thousand  times 
better,  the  bitter  tears  —  the  sobs  of  agony,  and  the 
groans  of  fainting  horror  which  your  skilful  tortures  can 
hourly  extort  from  me  in  my  desolate  cell,  than  the  single 
act  which  would  proclaim  that  I  condescended  to  abjure, 
as  a  criminal,  that  rank,  and  that  wealth,  that  are  alike 
mine  by  right  of  birth.  Base,  merciless,  and  avaricious 
king,  I  scorn  your  offer  —  I  spurn  your  conditions  —  I 
defy  you  —  and  I  despise  you  !  " 

Henry  reddened  with  passion  when  he  heard  these 
"words  addressed  to  him  by  his  youthful  rival.  His  first 
impulse  was  to  place  his  hand  upon  his  dagger,  but 
he  instantly  restrained  himself,  and  turning  to  Lieman, 
said  — 

"  Lieman,  I  transfer  to  your  care  this  young  madman. 
Take  with  you  thirty  of  my  Worms'  guardsmen,  and 
conduct  him  to  the  fortress  of  Eberhard,  with  special 
directions  to  confine  and  treat  him  as  my  yrisoncr.  Away ! 
and  return  to  me  with  what  sj)eed  you  can." 

Magnus  listened  to  these  directions,  but  spoke  not. 
In  a  few  minutes  afterwards,  Henry  saw  him  riding  out 


THE  KING  AND  THE  PILGRIM.  257 

of  the  encampment  under  the  watchful  care  of  Lieman. 
and  his  associates,  and  whilst  the  detachment  and  their 
prisoner  were  still  in  sight,  Henry  was  heard  muttering 
these  ominous  words : 

"  Insulted  by  a  boy  !  scorned  by  a  subject !  defied  by 
a  prisoner  !  and  not  feared  even  as  a  rival  suitor !  And 
he  who  did  these  things  is  in  my  power,  and  has  passed 
a  living  man  from  my  sight !  Wherefore  ?  Because 
there  are  punishments  worse  than  death :  because  for 
Magnus  there  shall  be  a  terrible  punishment.  With 
Saxony  defeated :  with  a  pope  of  my  own  ^ —  yes,  Mag- 
nus, you  shall  live  to  witness  my  marriage  —  and,  seeing 
that,  you  shall  become  your  own  executioner  —  the  agony 
of  grief  and  of  despair  shall  drive  you  to  suicide,  and 
thus  you  shall  pass  from  hell  here  to  hell  hereafter. 
You  have  defied  me.  Madman !  idiot !  you  know  not 
what  awaits  you.  Could  you  but  surmise  it,  you  would 
seek  death  in  the  first  precipice  that  lies  at  your  feet." 


CHAPTER    XX. 

THE    KING    AND    THE    PILGRIM. 

The  meditation  of  Henry  was  interrupted  by  the  gal- 
lant Duke  of  Lorraine — Godfrey  the  hump-backed  — 
who  rode  up  at  the  head  of  a  body  of  horsemen,  and 
thus  addressed  him  : 

"  Whilst   exploring  the   environs  of  your   Majesty's 
camp  I  discovered  a  pilgrim  approaching  it,  and,  upon 
questioning  him,  he  assures  me  that  he  is  the  bearer  of 
S2* 


258         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

a  special  message  to  King  Henry,  from  Otho,  Duke  of 
Bavaria.  I  have  brought  him  with  me  for  the  purpose 
of  ascertaining  whether  it  is  your  Majesty's  desire  that 
he  should  be  admitted  to  your  presence." 

"A  special  message  from  Otho  to  me,"  said  Henry. 
*'  I  wonder  what  can  be  its  purport.  May  not  this  pil- 
grim be  a  spy,  who  seeks  to  learn  for  his  Saxon  country- 
men what  are  the  numbers  under  my  command,  and  Avhat 
the  strength  of  my  position  ?  " 

*'He  is  neither  Frank  nor  Saxon,  I  know  by  his  tongue," 
replied  Godfrey.  "  We  came  upon  him  by  surprise, 
and  when  he  manifestly  had  not  the  slightest  idea  he  was 
so  close  to  the  royal  camp.  I  have  taken  care  to  con- 
duct him  blindfolded  from  the  place  where  I  arrested 
him  to  this  spot.  He  can  therefore  bring  back  with 
him  no  information,  either  as  to  your  encampment  or 
your  army.  Is  it  your  Majesty's  will  that  he  should 
speak  with  you  ?  " 

"  It  is,"  replied  Henry.     "  Bring  him  forward." 

The  pilgrim,  with  whose  conduct  and  bravery  the 
reader  is  already  acquainted,  was  here  led  forth  from  the 
midst  of  the  soldiers  of  Godfrey.  The  cowl  that  con- 
cealed his  features  was  strongly  bandaged,  and  it  was 
plain,  from  the  unsteady  gait  with  which  he  walked,  that 
his  eyes  were  in  utter  darkness  —  in  fact,  that  the  ban- 
dage merely  permitted  him  to  breathe. 

The  bandage  was  unloosed,  and  the  moment  that  it 
was,  the  pilgrim,  as  if  dazzled  by  the  sudden  rush  of 
light  upon  his  eye-balls,  gazed,  apparently,  wildly,  but 
still  clearly,  distinctly,  and  steadily  on  all  sides  around 
him,  so  that,  with  his  practised  vision  as  a  veteran  gen- 
eral, he  comprehended  fully  the  nature  and  strength  of 
the  hostile  force  that  was  arrayed  under  the  orders  of  tho 


THE   KING  AND   THE   PILGRIM.  259 

king.  He  then  looked  at  the  group  of  dukes,  counts, 
and  prelates  that  were  on  horseback  or  on  foot  about 
King  Henry,  and  he  scanned,  with  an  eager  glance,  the 
features  of  each,  as  if  he  were  seeking  to  recognize  the 
face  of  one  who  wastwell  known  to  him.  As  he  com- 
pleted his  search,  he  thus  communed  with  himself: 

"  He  is  not  here,  and  yet  here  I  fancied  I  was  sure  to 
find  him.  But  —  alas  !  for  the  Saxons,  if  I  cannot  re- 
turn to  them  before  their  proximity  to  this  tremendous 
army  is  discovered.  They  fancy  the  king  to  be  a  day's 
march  from  them,  and  yet,  a  few  hours  will  suffice  to 
move  this  force  against  them.  If  they  are  discovered  in 
their  present  position,  they  are  inevitably  destroyed." 

"Wherefore,  Sir  Pilgrim,"  said  the  Duke  Godfrey, 
"  do  you  not  deliver  to  the  king  the  message  of  which 
you  told  me  you  were  the  bearer  when  I  arrested  you  ? " 

"  This,"  said  the  pilgrim,  addressing  himself  to  Hen- 
ry, "  is  the  message  that  Duke  Otho  bids  me  bring  to 
your  Majesty.  The  Duke  Otho  has  heard  that  his 
nephew,  Magnus,  Dukq^of  Saxony,  has  fallen  into  the 
hands  of  one  of  your  Majesty's  officers.  He  is  desirous 
of  rescuing  his  relation,  the  head  of  his  illustrious  house, 
from  thraldom,  and  therefore  he  bids  me  say  to  you,  that 
he  is  ready  to  exhaust  his  own  treasury,  and  to  alienate 
the  greater  portion  of  his  estates,  to  procure  the  ransom 
of  Magnus.  All  he  desires  is,  that  your  Majesty  may 
name  some  settled  sum  ;  and  he  authorizes  me  to  say, 
that  the  moment  Duke  Magnus  is  made  fi'ee  it  shall  be 
paid  to  you." 

*'  Is  this,"  said  Henry,  "  all  that  Duke  Otho  bade  you 
say  to  me  ?  " 

"  No  —  it  is  not  all,"  replied  the  pilgrim  ;  "  but,  if 
this  offer  be  accepted,  it  is  all  that  is  necessaiy  for  me  to 


260         TEE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

say.     What  else  I  have  to  add  is  contingent  upon  your 
refusal." 

"  Then,  Sir  Pilgrim,"  said  Henry,  "  regard  that  offer 
as  refused.  What  else  hath  Otho  to  offer  me  more 
precious  than  the  red  gold  and  the  rich  lands  of  Ba- 
varia ? " 

"  That,"  answered  the  pilgrim,  "  which  every  man 
who  hears  me  will  esteem  more  precious  than  gold,  more 
valuable  than  land  —  that  which  comprises  the  most  rare 
gifts  that  the  Creator  can  bestow  upon  the  creature  — 
virtue,  valor,  genius,  wisdom,  and  generosity  —  for  all 
those  qualities  are  combined  in  the  person  of  Duke 
Otho." 

"  What  mean  you  ?  "  asked  the  king.  "  Speak  plain- 
ly, for  I  do  not  like  to  be  talked  to  in  riddles." 

"  This,  then,  is  the  message  of  Duke  Otho  to  your 
Majesty,"  said  the  pilgrim.  "  He  bids  me,  in  case  that 
your  INIajesty  should  refuse  any  money-ransom  for  your 
noble  and  youthful  prisoner,  to  remind  you  that  the  com- 
mon ancestors  of  himself  and^f  Magnus  willingly  shed 
their  blood  in  the  wars  of  your  royal  predecessors  —  that 
their  lives  Avere  sacrificed  in  founding  that  old  German 
empire  of  which  your  Majesty  is  now  the  head  —  that  he 
himself,  as  well  as  the  father  of  Magnus,  were  amongst 
the  tried  and  most  trusted  friends  of  the  late  emperor. 
He  bids  you  to  bear  those  circumstances  in  mind,  when 
he  tenders  to  you,  as  I  now  in  his  name  do  make  that 
tender,  to  yield  himself  a  prisoner  to  your  Majesty  in  ex- 
change for  Duke  Magnus,  and  that,  provided  you"  give 
to  Magnus  his  liberty,  he  will  submit  himself  to  your 
Majesty's  pleasure,  to  be  held  by  you  in  chains  and  cap- 
tivity as  long  as  you  desire  so  to  retain  him,  even  though 
it  should  be  for  his  whole   life ;  and  that  you   should 


THE  KING  AND  THE  PILGRIM.  261 

even  dispose  of  all  his  personal  property  in  whatsoever 
manner  you  please  —  all  this  he  is  Avilling  to  do,  that  he 
may  save  his  youthful  relation  from  the  wasting  agony 
of  a  prolonged  imprisonment.  This  is  the  message  of 
Duke  Otho.  Docs  your  Majesty  deign  to  send  a  reply 
to  it  ? " 

"  Brave  Otho  !  truly  magnanimous  duke,"  exclaimed 
Godfrey.  "  These  are  the  words  of  a  hero.  They  are 
more  fitting  in  the  lips  of  an  ancient  Roman  than  of  a 
barbarous  Saxon." 

The  exclamation  of  the  gallant  Godfrey  was  not  un- 
heard by  Henry,  and  seemed  to  foment  the  rage  that 
was  gathering  in  his  heart,  and  to  give  additional  fire  to 
the  passions  that  now  possessed  him. 

*'  Audacious  and  insolent  traitor  !  "  exclaimed  Henry. 
"  Otho  —  the  slave,  whom  you,  sirrah,  presume  to  call 
Duke  of  Bavaria,  is  now  a  duke  no  longer.  Placed 
under  the  ban  of  the  empire  —  houseless,  homeless, 
landless  —  the  associate  of  robbers,  of  vagabonds,  and  of 
murderers  —  he  wdio  lives  by  rapine,  and  whose  only 
chance  of  safety  is  in  flying  as  a  fugitive  from  before  my 
soldiers  —  he,  on  whose  head  I  have  placed  a  price,  and 
who,  if  arrested,  shall  die  the  death  of  a  slave  —  he  pre- 
sumes to  send  a  message  to  me,  tendering  himself  as  a 
prisoner,  and  thus  seeking  to  extort  my  mercy  —  mercy 
that  shall  not  be  shown  to  him,  once  he  becomes  my  cap- 
tive — he,  who  by  his  cowardice  in  shrinking  from  single 
combat  admits  that  he  plotted  against  my  life,  and  who 
is  in  a  worse  condition  than  the  meanest  beggar,  tenders 
gold  that  he  has  not,  and  lands  of  which  he  has  been 
deprived,  as  a  ransom  for  his  nephew  !  Audacious  and 
beggarly  boaster,  my  only  answer  to  his  insolent  message 
is  this — that  he  shall  be  doomed  to  bear  not  even  a  dog, 


262         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

but  an  ass's  saddle  to  the  place  of  his  execution  ;  that 
his  death  shall  be  that  which  the  Hessians  inflict  on  their 
criminals,  he  shall  be  staked  alive  ;  and  when  dead,  the 
flesh  that  covers  his  traitorous  breast  shall  be  given  to 
feed  my  hawks.  This  is  my  answer  —  the  only  answer 
worthy  of  a  king  to  send  to  an  assassin  in  intention,  and 
a  traitor  in  fact." 

So  ungracious  and  so  cruel  a  reply  as  this  to  the  gen- 
erous ofier  of  Otho,  filled  the  minds  of  most  of  the  gal- 
lant men  who  heard  it  with  indignation  and  disgust.  A 
murmur  of  discontent  filled  the  ear  of  Henry,  who  be- 
came pale  wdth  passion,  as  the  unwonted  sound  reached 
him.  He  was  enraged  to  perceive  how  vast  was  the  dif- 
ference between  those  who  came,  from  a  sense  of  duty, 
in  arms  to  assist  him,  and  that  cringing  band  of  parasites 
and  courtiers  in  whose  society  most  of  his  time  had  hith 
erto  been  wasted.  He  felt  that  he  was  in  an  embarrass 
iug  position,  and  knew  not  how  to  reconcile  his  interest^ 
in  not  offending  the  German  princes  and  prelates,  and 
yet  gratifying  his  hatred,  and  giving  vent  to  his  revenge. 

From  this  embarrassment,  an  unlooked-for  incident 
rescued  the  king. 

"News!  news!  most  joyful  news!"  exclaimed  Ru- 
dolph, Duke  of  Swabia,  riding  up  to  the  king.  "  I  have 
discovered  the  Saxon  army." 

"  Alas  !  alas !  "  groaned  the  pilgrim  ;  "  then  all  is 
lost." 

"  The  Saxon  army  !  "  said  Henry,  in  surprise.  "  I 
fancied  that  we  must  be  distant  from  them  at  least  three 
days'  march." 

"  We  are  not  so  many  hours'  march  apart  from  them," 
answered  Rudolph.  "  They  are  now  encamped  at  Lan- 
gensalza,  on  the  banks  of  the  Unstrutt;   and  so  little 


THE   KING  AND  THE  PILGRIM.  263 

idea  have  they  that  they  are  within  a  few  miles  of  your 
Majesty's  forces,  that  even  their  camp  is  unguarded. 
My  soldiers,  who  have  approached  close  up  to  their  lines 
undiscovered,  or,  if  observed,  unattended  to  by  them, 
report,  that  they  are  now  solely  occupied  with  feasting, 
carousing,  and  rural  sports.  There  is  not  a  man  amongst 
them  who  has  got  on  his  armor,  but  they  are  all  like 
l.oliday  folk  in  the  midst  of  a  peaceful  and  friendly 
country.  If  we  wish  to  destroy  them  utterly,  every 
practised  soldier  in  this  camp  will  tell  your  Majesty  that 
this  is  a  moment  for  making  an  attack  upon  them.  Give 
them  not  an  instant  to  prepare  for  battle,  and  you  force 
them  to  fight  with  such  disadvantage,  that  their  defeat 
is  certain,  or,  if  they  have  time  to  retreat  in  safety  to 
their  camp,  their  intrenchments  can  be  no  protection 
to  those  who  have  once  been  seized  with  a  panic  fear." 

Henry's  heart  bounded  -ndth  joy  at  this  unexpected 
intelligence.  He  instantly  flung  himself  from  his  horse, 
and  casting  himself  on  his  knees,  said  aloud : 

"  I  thank  my  God  for  these  joyful  tidings  ;  and  I  now 
say,  in  the  presence  of  heaven,  and  of  man,  that  I  shall 
ever  be  grateful,  as  to  my  best  and  truest  of  friends,  to 
Rudolph,  Duke  of  Swabia,  for  bringing  to  me  this  news. 
Rudolph,  demand  from  me  what  thou  wilt,  it  is  thine, 
before  it  is  asked  for." 

"  The  only  favor  I  have  to  ask,"  answered  Rudolph, 
"  is  that  I  may  be  permitted,  on  this  occasion,  to  exercise 
that  which  is  the  peculiar  privilege  of  the  Swabian  sol- 
diery —  that  privilege  which  law  and  custom  both  have 
sanctioned  —  namely,  that  in  every  warlike  expedition, 
headed  by  a  German  king,  the  Swabians  shall  lead  the 
van ;  be  the  first  to  encounter  the  foe ;  and  the  first  to 


264  THE  POPE   AND  THE   EMPEROR. 

slied  their  blood  for  their  sovereign  and  their  country. 
This  is  the  favor  I  now  ask  of  your  Majesty.  Permit 
me,  on  this  instant,  to  march  with  my  forces.  Let  the 
others,  with  what  speed  they  may,  follow  and  support 
me  in  my  onset,  for  we  have  to  do  with  a  dauntless  race 
of  men." 

"Brave  Rudolph,  the  privilege  you  seek  is  conceded 
to  you,"  said  Henry,  embracing  the  Duke  of  Swabia. 
"  The  advice  you  give  shall  be  followed.  Holloa  !  let 
the  trumpets  sound  forth  the  charge  to  battle  field,  and 
victory.  Now  —  death  to  the  Saxons  —  to  battle  —  to 
battle  —  every  man  who  can  handle  a  sword,  and  who 
loves  his  king." 

As  Henry  spoke  these  words,  and  his  brilliant  eyes 
flashed  with  martial  fire,  a  frown  overcast  his  face,  for 
he  perceived  the  pilgrim  standing  by  his  side. 

The  pilgrim  turned  away,  and  as  he  did  so,  said  — 

"  Now,  for  Erzegebirge  —  now,  if  it  be  possible  to 
see  that  which  has  been  so  long  looked  for  —  prayed  for 
—  and  sought  for  in  vain." 

The  postern  of  the  camp  through  which  the  pilgrim 
passed,  was  guarded  but  by  a  few  sentinels.  It  appeared 
lone  and  deserted,  even  though  there  came  to  it  now  and 
again  the  sound  of  the  braying  of  trumpets  —  the  neigh- 
ing of  steeds,  and  the  shouts  of  men,  as  detachment  after 
detachment  poured  out  of  the  encampment  from  the  op- 
posite side,  and  all  marching  in  the  one  direction  towards 
the  fatal  and  long  famed  field  of  Langensalza. 


THE  BATTLE  OF   LANGENSALZA.  265 

CHAPTER     XXI. 

THE  BATTLE   OF  LANGENSALZA. 

Never  yet  did  there  gather  in  arms  braver  men  or 
more  resolute  patriots,  than  those  vfho  were  collected 
near  to  the  waters  of  the  Unstrutt ;  and  who,  confident 
in  the  goodness  of  their  cause,  and  the  purity  of  their 
motives,  looked  forward  with  an  assured  hope  of  victory, 
to  the  first  moment  they  should  come  in  collision  with 
their  oppressor  and  their  sovereign  —  the  ruthless  and 
irrehgious  Henry.  The  army  of  the  Saxons  was  com- 
posed, for  the  most  part,  of  valiant  rustics  —  of  men 
who  had  been  born  free  —  and  who  perceived  that  the 
efforts  of  Henry  were  directed  towards  their  degrada- 
tion and  enslavement.  These  men  took  up  arms  with 
all  the  courage,  but  without  any  of  the  discipline,  of 
practised  soldiers,  and  the  nobles  who  led  them  forbore, 
until  they  were  approaching  the  forces  of  their  foes,  ex- 
acting from  them  that  watcfifulness  and  rigid  observance 
of  military  rules,  that  they  would  have  required  from 
hired  warriors.  These  leaders  supposed  that  it  was 
necessary  to  maintain,  at  its  highest  point,  the  popular 
enthusiasm  —  to  conceal,  as  long  as  they  could,  from 
their  followers,  the  hardships  of  war  ;  because  they  felt 
assured  that  those  very  men,  who  would  have  revolted, 
or  might  have  become  disgusted,  by  the  strict  enforce- 
ment of  that  despotism  which  is  characteristic  of  a  camp, 
would,  in  sight  of  the  enemy,  display  the  same  daring, 
dauntless  courage,  which  has  ever  been  an  inherent 
quality  in  the  Saxon  race.  The  misfortune  of  those 
leaders  was,  that  they  had  not  taken  sufficient  care  to 
learn  the  precise  distance  that  divided  them  from  the 
23 


266  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

army  under  the  command  of  Henry.  At  the  very  mo- 
ment that  they  fancied  it  would  be  difficult  for  a  band 
of  cavalry,  even  in  a  long  day's  march,  to  reach  their 
lines,  and,  therefore,  an  impossibility  for  a  whole  army, 
that  had  to  convey  with  it  baggage,  wagons,  and  all  the 
heavy  equipage  of  a  camp,  to  approach  them  by  many 
miles  —  the  entii'e  of  the  troops  of  Henry,  cavalry  as 
well  as  infantry,  were  on  the  point  of  assaulting  their 
intrenchments.  The  consequences  of  the  ignorance  of 
the  Saxon  leaders  on  this  point,  and  of  their  misinfor- 
mation, we  have  now  to  narrate. 

The  hour  of  midday  was  near,  and  the  Saxons,  nobles 
as  well  as  common  folk,  had  partaken  of  dinner,  and 
were  now  enjoying  themselves  in  various  ways.  The 
song,  the  merry  joke,  and  loud  laughter,  were  heard  on 
every  side,  whilst  many  still  sat  at  the  banqueting  table, 
where  the  wine-cup  circled  around.  Such  was  the  man- 
ner in  which  the  leaders  of  the  Saxon  army  were  occu- 
pied. All  Avere  congregated  together  in  the  wide  tent 
of  Duke  Otho,  and  there,  with  the  folds  of  the  tent  cast 
wide  open,  so  as  to  admit  as  much  as  possible  of  the 
fresh  air,  might  be  seen  the  quondam  Duke  of  Bavaria, 
the  Count  Dedi,  his  son,  the  Bishop  of  Halberstadt, 
and  the  other  insurgent  nobles  and  prelates,  whose 
names  have  been  already  specified.  Before  them  were 
goblets  of  gold,  and  all  the  luxurious  decorations  of  the 
table,  which  are  so  frequently  seen  in  palaces,  and  so 
seldom  transferred  to  the  tented  field.  They  looked 
like  men  who  had  assembled  to  enjoy  themselves  after 
the  pleasures  of  the  chase,  and  not  like  warriors,  who 
were  mustered  together  to  encounter  the  perils  of  war. 
So  little  thought  had  they  of  battle,  that  few  of  them 
wore  any  species  of  defensive  armor.     The  attention  of 


THE  BATTLE   OP  LANGENSALZA.  267 

all  —  nobles,  priests,  and  -warriors  —  was  fixed  npon  a 
minstrel,  who  recited  to  them,  in  a  rude  chant,  the 
achievements  of  the  great  Saxon  hero,  "Wittikind,  when, 
M'ith  a  few  followers,  he  utterly  routed  the  Frankish 
soldiers  in  the  valley  of  Suntal,  on  the  banks  of  the 
"Weser.  Pieces  of  gold  were  cast  to  the  minstrel,  and 
the  plaudits  of  a  delighted  auditory  were  heard  around, 
when  suddenly  arose,  at  the  outermost  verge  of  the  vast, 
expansive,  and  arid  fields,  that  lay  stretched  in  front  of 
the  encampment,  dark,  globular  clouds,  that  seemed  to 
roll  slowly  onward  along  the  ground  towards  the  spec- 
tators, and  to  increase  momentarily  in  size  as  they 
approached.  Darker  and  denser  grew  these  clouds  — 
they  swelled  in  size  —  then  seemed  to  meet  together  — 
then  to  form  one  compact  revolving  mass,  that,  as  it 
whirled  along,  sent  up  a  lurid  mist  into  the  air,  which 
obscured  the  vision,  as  if  a  heavy  canopy  of  vapor  hung 
above  the  progressing  and  sable  tide  that  came  swelling 
over  the  wide  and  even-surfaced  plain. 

Amazement  and  affright  seized  upon  the  Saxons,  as 
they  gazed  at  this  marvellous  spectacle. 

"  What  awful  prodigy  is  this  ?  "  exclaimed  Otho. 
'•'  What  mighty  work  of  God  is  this  we  are  looking 
upon  ?  " 

"  No  work  of  God,"  replied  the  elder  Dedi ;  ''  but 
the  evil  deed  of  man.  Those  clouds  of  dust  arise  from 
the  trampling  feet  of  the  horses  and  men  of  a  large  army 
advancing  to  attack  us.  We  have  neglected  our  duties  as 
generals,  and  God  is  pleased  to  punish  us  for  that  neg- 
lect. See  !  for,  weakened  even  as  my  eyes  are  by  age, 
I  can  discern  the  gilt  helmets  and  golden-decorated 
hauberks  of  the  Swabians,  as  they  charge  onward  to  the 
assault.     I  can  remark  even  their  standards,  as  they  are 


268  THE  POPE   AND   THE   EMPEROR. 

borne  erect  in  tlie  midst  of  their  lines.  To  arms  — 
Otho  —  bid  all  the  Saxons  to  arms  ! " 

*' Ah,  woe!"  cried  Otho,  "it  is  as  you  say,  Dedi. 
Look,  the  enemy  now  cover  all  the  line  of  the  wide  plain 
before  us  —  they  come  upon  us  like  a  swarm  of  locusts, 
and  seemingly  numberless  as  the  sands  of  the  desert  on 
which  they  stand.  To  arms,  Saxons !  to  arms !  the 
enemy  is  upon  us  !  Alas !  Dedi,  I  am  much  to  blame 
for  this  ;  I  ought  to  have  surmised  that  which  I  never 
could  have  suspected,  when  I  sent  the  pilgrim  on  my 
mission,  that  the  king  might,  by  hurried  marches,  have 
taken  us  by  surprise,  as  he  now  has  done.  To  arms, 
Saxons  !  to  arms  !  Let  every  brave  man  seize  the  first 
weapon  that  presents  itself,  and  if  he  cannot  find  his  own 
commander,  let  him,  at  least,  wherever  he  stands,  find 
by  his  sword  the  heart  of  a  foeman.  To  arms  —  to 
arms  —  all  brave  Saxons  !  fight  for  God  and  our  Saxon 
land.      To  arms  !  " 

"  To  arms  !  to  arms  !  to  arms  !  "  were  words  shouted 
forth  by  the  mouths  of  forty  thousand  men  —  and  that  in 
tones  as  different  as  the  passions  and  the  feelings  of  the 
several  speakers  —  for  in  the  selfsame  words  were  ex- 
pressed surprise,  horror,  disgust,  reproach,  indignation 
that  the  king,  with  his  entire  army,  should  have  been 
permitted  to  take  them  thus  by  surprise,  and  to  force 
them  at  such  a  disadvantage  into  battle.  Amid,  how- 
ever, all  those  conflicting  passions,  there  was,  in  that 
Saxon  host,  but  one  sentiment  pervading  the  breast  of  each 
individual  — it  was  that  of  encountering  the  enemy ;  and, 
if  it  Avcre  not  possible  to  subdue  him,  at  least  to  leave 
him  a  tearful  and  a  blood-stained  victory. 

Few  of  the  Saxons  had  on  them  a  ringed  hauberk, 
still  fewer  the  heavy  haubergcon ;  many  were  without 


THE  BATTLE  OF   LANGENSALZA.  269 

even  the  leathern  corlum ;  and  numbers,  who  had,  on 
account  of  the  heat,  divested  themselves  of  then*  jerkuis, 
did  not  tarry  to  resume  them ;  but,  half  naked  as  they 
were,  and  having  only  their  helmet,  sword,  spear,  and 
shield,  rushed,  pell-mell,  on  horseback  and  on  foot,  in 
one  disordered  mass,  out  of  the  camp,  to  encounter  the 
rapidly  advancing  Swabians.  "  To  arms  !  To  arms  !  " 
was  the  common  cry  of  all,  as  each  snatched  up  a  weapon 
of  offence,  and  speeded^,  quickly  as  he  could,  to  that  spot 
where  he  believed  must  occur  the  first  shock  between 
the  conflicting  armies.  No  lines  were  disposed,  no 
order  of  battle  arranged,  no  distribution  of  men  under 
their  accustomed  leaders  determined  upon  ;  but,  as  each 
man  rode  or  ran,  he  joined  that  mass  of  his  countrymen 
which  was  heaped  together  to  receive  the  Swabian  cav- 
alry. The  Saxons  were,  that  day,  a  mob  of  fighting 
men,  to  encounter  an  army  organized  for  attacking  them ; 
for  the  sudden  advance  of  the  king  had  deprived  them 
of  all  the  advantage  they  might  otherwise  have  obtained 
from  the  military  skill  and  experience  of  their  com- 
manders. 

Each  moment  increased  the  resisting  force  of  the 
Saxons,  as  they  individually  hastened  to  their  associates, 
and  each  moment  brought  the  Swabian  horse  sweeping 
down  in  one  long  line  upon  them.  Amongst  the  fore- 
most line  of  the  Saxons  on  horseback  were  the  practised 
general,  Count  Dedi,  and  the  ardent  warrior,  his  son. 
By  order  of  the  count,  the  horsemen  had  disentangled 
themselves  from  the  Saxon  infantry,  and  had  grouped 
together  in  one  thick,  globular  body,  and  thus  awaited 
the  charge  of  the  Swabians.  Thus  stood  the  Saxon 
cavalry,  in  a  compact  mass,  upon  a  spot  afterwards 
known  as  Hohenburg,  and  when  they  saw  the  Swabians 
23* 


270         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROK. 

within  a  hundred  yards  of  them,  they,  as  if  by  one  im- 
pulse, set  their  spears  in  their  hands,  dashed  forward  to 
meet  the  foe,  and  then  came  with  such  a  crash  upon 
their  opponents,  that,  with  the  mere  weight  of  men  and 
horses,  they  broke  up  the  force  of  their  adversaries  — 
hewing  them  down  with  heavy  swords,  as  they  whirled 
and  turned  amongst  them.  With  this  single  charge  the 
Swabians  must  have  been  routed,  if,  at  the  moment  that 
they  were  on  the  point  of  disbanding,  the  Duke  of 
Guelph,  with  the  heavy  armed  Bavarians,  had  not  come 
to  their  relief. 

The  soldiers  of  Guelph  were  practised  warriors. 
There  were  amongst  them  men  who  were  accomplished 
bowmen  ;  others  conspicuous  for  the  fatal  dexterity  with 
which  they  flung  the  lance  ;  and  all  were  defended  by 
helmets,  coats  of  ringed  mail,  and  long  shields.  These 
men  first  thinned  the  cavalry  of  Dedi  by  a  shower  of 
arrows  and  lances,  and  thus  compelled,  by  their  murder- 
ous discharge,  Dedi's  horsemen  to  attack  them,  and 
wherever  that  attack  was  made  the  squadrons  of  the 
Bavarians  opened,  to  show  thousands  of  soldiers  drawn 
up,  line  after  line,  with  shortened  spears  firmly  planted 
in  the  earth,  to  receive  their  assailants.  Despite  of  the 
orders  of  the  count,  his  son,  Dedi  the  younger,  and  the 
great  body  of  the  Saxon  horsemen,  rushed  down  upon 
these  iron  lines,  and  as  they  did  so  hundreds  were  trans- 
pierced with  mortal  wounds.  Here  it  was  that  Dedi 
the  younger  slew,  with  his  sword,  Ernest,  the  Mar- 
quess of  the  Bavarians,  a  man  ilhistrious  for  the  many 
victories  he  had  won  over  the  Bohemians.  It  was  the 
sole  solace  left  to  the  young  man  for  the  disasters  of  that 
day;  for,  as  Ei-nest  fell,  he  found  a  hundred  spears  pre- 
sented at  his  own  heart,  and  it  was  solely  owing  to  his 


THE  BATTLE   OF  LANGENSALZA.  2T1 

skill  and  courage  that  he  was  able  to  escape  back  in 
safety  to  the  ranks  of  his  countrymen. 

A  shout  of  joy  was  raised  in  the  ranks,  both  of  Swa- 
bians  and  Bavarians,  as  the  retreat  of  the  Dedis  demon- 
strated the  utter  annihilation  of  the  Saxon  horsemen. 
Their  exultation  was  destined  to  be  but  of  brief  dura- 
tion ;  for  they  beheld  the  Duke  Otho,  followed  by  a 
chosen  body-guard,  leading  on  the  multitude  of  Saxons, 
and  rushing  with  thena  into  the  thickest  of  their  Hnes, 
and  slaughtering  his  foes  wherever  he  came. 

The  battle  now  became  general.  Lances  and  spears 
had  been  discharged  on  both  sides,  and  the  carnage  was 
carried  on  with  the  sword.  Groans,  shouts,  and  execra- 
tions filled  the  air,  as  Bavarians  and  Swabians  beheld 
the  marvellous  skill  of  the  Saxon  soldiers  in  wielding, 
not  merely  one,  but  two  swords  at  the  same  time,  and 
each  man,  as  he  fought,  inflicting  double  wounds  upon 
his  opponents.  In  that  carnage,  even  Rudolph,  the 
Duke  of  the  Swabians,  escaped  with  difliculty.  A  hun- 
dred times  did  his  impenetrable  armor  receive  the  thrust 
or  cut  of  a  Saxon  sword,  and  though  no  deadly  wound 
was  inflicted,  yet  was  the  strength  with  Avhich  the  blow 
was  given  proved  by  the  grievous  bruises  which  ren- 
dered him  moveless  for  many  days  afterwards. 

Charge  after  charge  was  made  by  the  royal  horsemen, 
upon  the  Saxons ;  but  still  they  stood  their  ground  un- 
flinchingly. The  dry  earth  was  rendered  clammy  with 
blood,  and  the  dying  were  sometimes  prematurely 
smothered  in  the  gore  in  which  they  fell,  whilst  horses' 
hoofs  trampled  upon  the  bodies  of  the  prostrate.  And 
yet  the  Saxons  still  fought  on.  Blow  Avas  returned  for 
blow,  and  even  the  dying  Saxon  was  seen,  in  many 
cases,  to  drag  from  his  body  the  weapon  that  had  giveu 
him  his  death  wound,  and  with  it  to  slay  his  slayer. 


272  THE  POPE   AND   THE  EMPEEOE. 

Saxons,  Swabians,  and  Bavarians  fought  with  the 
desperate  bravery  of  men  who  might  be  slain  but  would 
not  retreat. 

For  nine  long  hours  had  the  battle  now  raged  ;  from 
twelve  o'clock  in  the  day  until  nine  in  the  evening  had 
the  Saxons  withstood  the  united  attack  of  Swabians  and 
Bavarians,  and  during  all  that  period  had  Otho  won  for 
himself  the  glory  of  a  dauntless  soldier,  reviving,  wher- 
ever he  appeared,  the  spirits  of  his  countrymen,  and,  by 
his  words  and  his  example,  maintaining  their  dogged 
determination  to  die  or  conquer :  now  bidding  them 
remember  they  were  fighting  for  liberty,  and  then  rush- 
ing into  the  thickest  ranks  of  the  enemy,  and  hewing 
out,  with  his  sword,  a  path  for  himself  and  his  fol- 
lowers. 

And  whilst  the  battle  thus  raged  King  Henry  held 
aloof.  Perchance  he  delighted  in  this  common  destruc- 
tion of  Saxons,  Swabians,  and  Bavarians.  Whatever 
was  his  motive,  he  would  not  move  a  man  of  the  thou- 
sands under  his  command,  although  repeated  messages 
for  succor  reached  him  both  from  Rudolph  and  from 
Guelph,  He  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  plain,  looking 
on  at  this  awful  carnage.  He  stood  there,  surrounded 
with  his  chosen  body-guard  of  the  Worms'  knights  and 
soldiers,  all  wearing  their  richly  gilt  armor,  whilst  on 
each  side  were  drawn  np,  in  compact  masses,  the  Bohe- 
mians and  the  M'arriors  of  Lorraine. 

At  length,  however,  the  signal  of  attack  was  given  by 
Henry ;  but  it  was  not  until  he  saw  the  lines  of  the 
Swabians  and  Bavarians  wavering  before  the  forward 
charges  of  the  Saxons. 

Otho  and  the  other  leaders  of  the  Saxons  were  well 
aware  that,  once  the  king  advanced,  their  last  desperate 


THE  BATTLE  OP  LANGENSALZA.        273 

and  hopeless  struggle  must  be  made,  and  therefore  they 
prepared  to  encounter  it. 

Down  then,  with  a  deafening  shout,  upon  the  whole 
body  of  the  Saxon  soldiers,  and  their  now  widely  extended 
line,  came  the  king  with  his  warriors.  On  the  outermost 
wings  the  Saxons  were  at  the  same  instant  compelled  to 
defend  themselves  from  the  combined  attack  of  Heriman, 
Count  of  Glizberg,  and  of  the  soldiers  of  Bamberg: 
whilst,  moving  from  divers  points  towards  the  one  com- 
mon centre,  came  rushing  the  king,  with  all  his  armed 
knights,  the  Duke  of  the  Bohemians,  and  Godfrey,  with 
the  men  of  Lorraine. 

It  was  a  charge  of  horsemen  —  of  thousands  upon 
thousands  of  horsemen,  all  fresh  —  all  eager  for  battle, 
and  all  untired  by  combat ;  and  it  was  a  charge  made 
upon  infantry,  now  wasted  and  worn  down  by  a  fight 
that  had  lasted  for  nine  hours.  The  shock  was  irresistible 
—  in  an  instant  the  united  line  of  the  Saxons  was  broken 
into  a  thousand  fragments. 

With  that  swift,  combined  charge,  the  entire  face  of 
the  battle  field  was  changed.  The  fight  had  become  a 
carnage  ;  and  men,  who  had  struggled  for  so  many  hours 
as  warriors,  now  fled  as  fugitives  —  they  were  dispersed 
as  the  light  dust  is  dispersed  on  the  highway  by  the  single 
blast  of  a  strong  wind. 

There  was  a  pause  —  a  pause  but  for  an  instant,  on  the 
entire  of  the  Saxon  line.  It  was  on  that  point  where 
Henry,  conspicuous  amongst  the  rest,  by  his  gorgeous 
armor,  came  in  contact  with  Otho,  and  the  leaders  of  the 
Saxon  army.  At  that  point  were  gathered  together  Otho 
and  the  two  Dedis,  and  the  fiiithful  Bruin,  and  all  the 
horsemen  that,  up  to  that  period,  had  escaped  uninjured. 
They  watched  the  king  as  he  advanced  with  the  two  sons 


274  THE   POPE   AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

of  Eberhard,  Count  of  Ellenburg,  and  Diedrlch ;  and 
they  determined,  if  they  could,  to  avenge  their  country- 
men by  the  destruction  of  their  oppressor. 

At  the  same  instant,  the  Dedis,  father  and  son,  dis- 
charged their  spears  at  Henry,  and  he  received  both  upon 
his  shield,  whilst  the  blows  were  returned  by  the  two 
sons  of  Ellenburg,  who  Uved  not  a  moment  afterwards, 
as  both  were  struck  lifeless  from  their  horses  by  the  swords 
of  the  Dedis.  A  blow  from  the  sword  of  Heniy  struck 
Otho  from  his  horse  ;  and,  as  Henry  raised  his  arm  to 
strike  the  point  into  the  heart  of  Otho,  he  was  amazed  to 
find  it  Avrenched  from  his  grasp  by  the  expert  hand  of 
Bruin,  who  said : 

"  Spare  Otho  for  the  sake  of  one  who  now  spares  you 
your  life,  and  whose  life  you  sought,  for  I  am  Bruin " 

Poor  Bruin  never  spoke  anotiier  ^yord  ;  for,  as  he  was  iu 
the  act  of  restoring  his  sword  to  Henry,  the  heavy  weapon 
of  Diedrich  came,  Avith  its  trenchant  blade,  down  upon 
his  skull,  splitting  his  head  in  two,  and  covering  with  his 
blood  the  golden  greaves  of  the  monarch,  at  whose  feet  fell 
the  lifeless  body  of  the  humble,  heroic,  and  generous  man. 

"  The  villain  Bruin !  "  exclaimed  Henry,  trampling 
with  his  horse's  feet  upon  the  now  inanimate  corpse.  "  I 
thought  to  have  inflicted  upon  him  a  felon's  death,  and 
not  to  have  permitted  him  to  die  thus  like  a  soldier.  Is 
Otho  a  prisoner  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Diedrich.  "  Our  men  are  taking  no 
prisoners." 

"  Let  none  be  taken,"  said  Henry.      "  Is  Otho  dead  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  Diedrich.  "  He  has  been  carried  away 
by  the  fugitives." 

Henry  looked  around  him,  and,  as  far  as  his  eyes  could 
reach,  he  saw  the  wide  plain  covered  with  fugitives,  and 
his  own  soldiers  hurrying  after  them. 


THE   BATTLE   OP    LANGENSALZA.  275 

''Follow!  follow!"  cried  Henry.  "  Slay  them  to  the 
last  man.  Show  no  mercy.  Kill  every  Saxon  you  meet 
with.  Take  no  prisoners.  Slay  —  slay  them  all.  Let 
even  my  camp-followers  join  in  the  pursuit,  for  I  will  not 
suffer,  if  I  can,  one  of  the  Saxon  race  to  escape.  Slay  — 
slay  all." 

These  merciless  orders  were  punctually  obeyed,  and 
to  the  uttermost  fulfilled.  For  mile  after  mile  were  the 
flying  Saxons  followed  by  the  horsemen,  led  by  Henry 
himself,  and  as  they  were  overtaken,  whether  singly  or  in 
bands,  they  were  put  to  death  ;  and  here,  the  bodies  were 
to  be  seen  of  murdered  men  heaped  together  ;  and  there, 
in  groups  of  two  or  three.  The  cries  for  mercy  were 
unheeded  ;  or  they  were  derided,  whilst  the  pursuers 
still  continued  untired  in  their  sanguinary  task.  Not  a 
man  of  the  whole  Saxon  army  could  have  escaped  anni- 
hilation, if  darkness,  conjoined  with  the  heavy  clouds  of 
dust  raised  by  the  fresh  breezes  of  evening,  had  not  so 
bewildered  the  military  butchers  of  Henry,  that  they  could 
no  longer  distinguish  those  of  whom  they  were  in  pursuit. 
In  some  cases,  it  happened  that  one  portion  of  Henry's 
forces,  supposing  another  division  of  the  king's  army  to 
be  the  flying  Saxons,  slew  their  associates  in  mistake  for 
those  whom  both  were  anxious  to  destroy. 

The  great  body  of  the  Saxons,  who  still  held  together 
in  their  hurried  flight,  reached  the  banks  of  the  Unstrutt, 
and  thither  did  they  find  themselves  followed  by  some 
thousands  of  Henry's  soldiers.  For  a  moment  they  de- 
liberated whether  they  should  seek  for  mercy,  or  cast 
themselves  into  the  waters  of  the  rapid  river.  They 
looked  back,  and  seeing  the  work  of  carnage  still  going 
on,  they  plunged,  in  a  body  as  they  were,  into  the  Avaters 
of  the  Unstrutt,  and,  as  they  did  so,  spears  and  flights 


276  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

of  arrows  came  pouring  down  upon  them  ;  and  In  an  in- 
stant afterwards  the  clear  stream  was  red  with  blood,  and 
the  corpses  of  the  dead  were  rolling  away  with  the  gurgling 
river.  Those  who  escaped  arranged  themselves  in  regular 
lines  as  they  reached  the  bank,  resolved,  if  attacked  there, 
to  exact  a  desperate  revenge  for  all  the  massacres  that 
had  been  perpetrated  upon  their  countrymen. 

The  darkness  of  night  had  now  covered  the  plain,  and 
Henry  feared  to  cross  the  stream  to  attack  those,  who,  to 
his  grief,  he  saw  had  lived  to  escape  his  vengeance.  He 
returned  to  the  field  of  battle,  and  from  thence  to  the 
Saxon  encampment,  where  he  learned  that  even  the  non- 
combatant  attendants  on  the  Saxon  leaders  —  the  rustics 
who  brought  provisions  to  the  camp,  and  the  camp-fol- 
lowers—  had  all  been  put  to  death,  and  that  with  such 
brutal  cruelty  that  men  shrunk  from  dwelling  on  the 
details  of  the  horrible  tortures  to  which  they  had  been 
subjected. 

The  murderers  and  torturers  had  been  enriched  with 
an  enormous  spoil  of  goblets,  in  gold  and  silver,  and 
garments  decorated  with  precious  stones;  and  hence  it 
was  that  their  joy  was  boundless,  and  their  acclamations 
incessant,  as  they  welcomed  King  Henry,  when,  as  a 
conqueror,  he  marched  in,  at  the  head  of  his  troops,  to 
that  encampment  which  had,  the  same  morning,  been 
occupied  by  the  enemy. 

Eor  mile  upon  mile  had  he  travelled  back  to  that  en- 
campment over  the  bodies  of  the  dead ;  and  heedlessly 
had  he  trampled  upon  the  lifeless  remains  of  friend  or 
foeman,  well  aware  that  he  was  to  be  rewarded,  when  he 
returned,  with  the  title  of  "a  victor."  He  thought  of 
himself  and  the  glory  he  had  thus  acquired,  and  of  the 
power  he  had  thus  secured,  and  not  a  single  compassionate 


THE   BATTLE    OP   LANGENSALZA.  27T 

feeling  arose  for  the  numbers  whose  lives  had  that  clay 
been  sacrificed.  For  them  he  cared  but  little  when 
living,  and  now  much  less  for  the  sorrow  of  the  miser- 
able relatives  who  had  survived  the  victims  to  his  am- 
bition. 

As  the  red  flaring  flames  of  thousands  of  torches,  grasped 
in  the  hands  of  his  soldiers,  cast  a  light  that  appeared  to 
be  tinged  with  blood  upon  all  around  them,  and  seemed, 
as  they  passed  along,  to  bring  up  out  of  the  darkness  in 
which  the  obscurity  of  night  had  buried  them,  the  cold, 
white,  naked  corpses  of  the  slaughtered  Saxons,  King 
Henry  passed  along,  his  face  radiant  with  joy,  and  his 
heart  bounding  with  exultation ;  for  that  awful  carnage 
had  secured,  in  his  hands,  a  power  upon  which  he  now 
could  perceive  no  check,  and  to  which  he  was  determined 
to  place  no  limits. 

Henry  stood  in  the  encampment  of  the  Saxons  ;  he 
even  occupied,  as  if  it  were  his  throne,  that  which  had 
been  the  chair  of  state  of  Duke  Otho.  The  captured 
standards  of  the  Saxons  lay  at  his  feet,  spattered  and  dab- 
bled with  the  hearts'  blood  of  their  defenders  :  his  horse's 
hoofs  were  red  with  the  gore  of  rustics  ;  by  his  side  were 
the  princes  and  knights  who  had  borne  the  brunt  of  the 
day ;  Duke  Rudolph,  of  Swabia,  crippled  with  bruises ; 
the  valiant  Guelph,  still  fresh  for  another  conflict ;  the 
fierce  Borziwog,  Duke  of  Bohemia ;  the  gallant  Godfrey 
of  Lorraine,  who  cast  an  eye  of  pity  on  the  dead  ;  and 
the  remorseless  Count  of  Treves,  who  looked  like  a 
butcher  from  a  slaughter  house ;  whilst,  in  the  midst  of 
an  enthusiastic  soldiery,  whose  shouts  of  exultation  rent 
the  air,  were  a  few  bishops  and  abbots,  who,  trembling 
and  sickened  at  the  massacre  they  .had  been  unwillingly 

forced  to  Avitness,  appeared  like  captives  of  the  king,  by 
o± 


278  THE  POPE   AND   THE   EMPEROK. 

whom  they  were  called  "  subjects,"  and  in  such  a  battle 
as  had  that  day  been  fought — "the  auxiliaries." 

"  This,"  exclaimed  Henry,  "  has  been  a  great,  a  glori- 
ous, and  a  complete  victory.  Of  the  thousands  who  this 
day  stood  in  array  against  me,  not  more  than  a  few  hun- 
dreds can  have  passed  in  safety  the  swollen  waters  of  the 
Unstrutt,  and  of  these  few,  not  even  one  man  should  have 
reached  its  bank  with  life,  but  for  the  blinding  dust  which 
obscured  our  vision,  and  the  darkness  of  night  which 
concealed  them." 

"I  do  not  fancy,"  observed  Rudolph,  "that  Otho  can 
have  fled  from  the  field  ;  for  whilst  the  battle  raged,  he 
fought  more  like  a  demon  than  a  man,  and  seemed  to  seek 
for  death  in  the  midst  of  our  ranks." 

"I  struck  him  down  myself,"  observed  Henry,  "and 
would  have  slain  him  with  my  own  hand,  but  for  an  inter- 
meddling knave,  who  paid  for  his  temerity  with  his  life. 
I  do  not  imagine  he  could  have  escaped  in  the  conflict. 
Let  his  body,  and  that  of  every  Saxon  noble  that  is  dis- 
covered, be  hung  upon  trees,  with  dead  dogs  attached  to 
their  heels.  Their  deaths  in  battle  shall  not  preserve 
them  from  the  doom  of  traitors." 

"  What  does  your  INIajesty  desire  should  be  done  with 
the  carcasses  of  the  fallen  Saxons  ?  "  asked  Diedrich. 

"Let  them  rot  where  they  have  fallen,"  replied  Henry. 
"  They  will  afford  a  rich  feast  for  the  birds  of  the  air  and 
the  beasts  of  the  forest." 

"  But  such  numbers  of  the  dead  arc  certain  to  produce 
a  pestilence  for  miles  around  the  battle  field,"  remarked 
Duke  Godfrey. 

"  It  is  what  I  desire,"  observed  Henry.  "  That  pes- 
tilence can  but  sweep  away  the  widows  and  oi-phans  of 
those  traitors.     It  will  never  reach  one  of  ray  faithful 


THE    BATTLE   OF   LANGENSALZA.  279 

soldiers,  for  tliey  shall  march  away  from  this  place  to- 
morrow." 

Duke  Godfrey  did  not  seek  to  disguise  the  feelings  of 
disgust  which  this  sentiment  of  the  king  excited,  and, 
bowing  lowly  to  him,  retired  from  the  Saxon  encampment, 
with  his  followers,  to  his  own  quarters. 

Henry  perceived,  but  was  too  politic  publicly  to  notice 
the  displeasure  of  the  Duke  of  Lorraine.  He  turned  to 
Eudolph,  and  said  — 

"  Let  the  trumpets  sound  —  I  wish  to  address  my 
followers." 

A  loud  burst  of  trumpets  woke  up  the  echoes  in  the 
dark  and  dismal  blood-stained  field  of  Langensalza.  It 
brought  speedily,  from  the  work  of  plunder,  all  the  sol- 
diers of  Henry  who  were  unwounded ;  and,  in  a  few 
minutes  afterwards,  the  king,  surrounded  with  a  circlet 
of  nobles  and  warriors,  all  bearing  torches,  was  seen 
mounted  on  his  war  horse  ;  and  when  the  cheering  clamor 
of  the  trumpets  had  ceased,  he  thus  addressed  his  trium- 
phant army :  — 

"Soldiers  of  the  empire  —  warriors,  worthy  of  your 
indomitable  sires,  whose  names  are  identified  with  victory 
in  every  battle  in  which  they  have  fought.  Heroes  who 
have  won  for  me,  and  with  me,  this  glorious  conquest, 
accept  this  open  and  this  grateful  expression  of  my  thanks. 
Steadily,  boldly,  joyfully  have  you,  with  me,  encountered 
a  common  danger,  and  with  me  subdued  a  brutal  and 
ferocious  race  of  men.  Of  the  result  I  never  entertained 
a  doubt,  because  I  was  supported  by  you  —  because  I 
relied  upon  your  loyalty,  and  was  confident  in  your  bra- 
very. I  cannot  imagine  any  peril  too  great,  nor  any 
difficulty  so  arduous,  which  I  could  not  be  certain  of 
mastering,  when  you  are  my  allies  and  associates. 


280         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

"  You  have  gained  a  great  victory  —  so  great,  that 
with  it  have  ceased  all  the  dangers  of  conflict,  and  all 
the  perils  of  battle.  You  have  no  longer  soldiers  to 
fight  against ;  but  you  have  fugitives  to  pursue.  The 
toil  of  battle  is  over,  and  now  the  embers  of  civil  war 
must  be  trodden  down  and  extinguished.  Now  you 
have  to  use  your  rights  as  conquerors,  and  to  discharge 
the  office  of  executioner.  The  spoil  of  Saxony  is  yours 
—  its  lands  must  be  laid  waste,  its  farm-houses  burned, 
its  mansions  demolished,  whilst,  as  to  its  inhabitants,  be 
it  your  care  that  flight  shall  not  save,  as  runaways,  those 
whom  your  weapons  could  not  reach  as  foemen. 

"  Soldiers  of  the  empire  —  Saxony  is  now  yours  — 
let  each  take  what  spoil  he  can,  and,  what  he  cannot 
carry  off  with  him,  destroy  —  thus  I  enrich  you,  and 
thus  impoverish  the  Saxons  —  thus  do  I  reward  my 
friends,  and  thus  punish  my  enemies. 

"  With  to-morrow's  sun  begins  the  work  of  spolia- 
tion and  destruction,  for  the  battle  of  Langensalza  lays 
Saxony  prostrate  and  helpless  before  me.  It  does  so  to 
my  honor  and  for  your  profit. 

"  Warriors  of  the  empire  —  thus  do  I  prove  to  you 
the  gratitude  of  your  sovereign." 

Loud  cheers  burst  from  the  soldiery  when  Henry  con 
eluded  an  address  in  which  he  gave  to  them  an  unlicensed 
privilege  of  plundering  the  rich  lands  of  Saxony  ;  and, 
at  the  same  time,  told  them  that  they  were  to  indulge 
their  passions,  and  to  shed,  with  impunity,  the  blood  of 
their  fclloAV-creaturcs.  They  were  veterans  in  warfiire, 
and  knew  well  and  thoroughly  all  the  privileges  Henry 
conferred  on  them,  and  they  rejoiced,  as  demons  rejoice, 
when  they  are  permitted,  for  a  time,  to  exercise  their 
malignity  upon  mankind. 


fHE  RESULTS  OF  THE   BATTLE.  281 

It  was  then,  amid  the  loud  huzzas  of  thousands  of 
men,  that  Henry,  accompanied  by  his  chief  nobility, 
rode  out  of  the  Saxon  encampment ;  and  he  exulted,  to 
hear  those  fierce  soldiers  hail  him  with  the  title  of  "  Hen- 
ry, the  hero,"  and  "  Henry,  the  conqueror." 

Henry  had,  at  that  moment,  reached  the  topmost  pin- 
nacle of  his  highest  fortune.  All  he  had  hoped  for  had 
been  attained,  and  all  he  wished  for,  seemed,  not  only 
possible  at  a  future  time,  but  practical  at  that  instant, 

Henry  was  supremely  happy. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

THE  RESULTS  OF  THE  BATTLE. 

Henry  was  supremely  happy,  for  he  believed  that  all 
his  warlike  opponents  lay  stark  dead  on  the  field  of  bat- 
tle, and  that  all  their  clerical  adherents,  terrified  by  the 
fate  that  had  befallen  them,  would  not  venture  to  con- 
tradict any  propositions  he  might  now  choose  to  make, 
either  as  to  the  enslavement  of  Saxony,  or  the  spoliation 
of  the  lands  and  revenues  belonging  to  the  church.  Be- 
sides, he  conceived  that  the  moment  had  now  come, 
when  he  might,  with  security,  carry  out  the  project  he 
had  long  entertained,  of  uniting  with  the  imperial  crown 
all  the  spiritual  powers  of  the  pontiff — and  that  this 
might  be  effected,  either  by  inducing  or  compelling  the 
Pope  at  Eome  to  abdicate,  and  then  electing  one  of  his 

own  slavish  bishops  in  his  place  ;  thus,  to  obtain,  amongst 
04.  ♦ 


282         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROE. 

other  things,  what  he  most  wished  for,  a  divorce  from 
Bertha,  and  his  marriage  with  Beatrice. 

The  manner  in  which  he  should  proceed  in  carrying 
out  these  various  projects,  was  passing  through  the 
thoughts  of  Henry,  as  the  hearty  acclamations  of  a  ju- 
bilant and  ferocious  soldiery  rung  in  his  ears. 

"  Egen,"  said  Heniy,  to  his  devoted  squire,  "  this 
victory  renders  it  no  longer  necessary  for  me  to  intrust 
Erzegebirge  to  the  watchful  military  skill  of  Diedrich. 
I  confide  it,  and  the  care  of  Beatrice,  to  you.  I  look  to 
you,  by  whom  she  was  first  discovered,  to  watch  her  for 
me.  It  is  a  precious  charge  I  confide  to  you :  it  is  that 
of  the  future  empress.  Upon  the  day  of  our  marriage, 
ask  a  gift  from  me.  A  countship,  and  the  richest  estate 
of  Duke  Otho  you  choose  to  select,  shall  be  your  reward." 

"  This  is  a  command  of  your  Majesty's,"  replied  Egen, 
**  of  which  I  am  certain  not  to  be  forgetful." 

"  Let  it  be  a  stimulant  to  your  Avatchfulness,  Egen," 
observed  Henry,  "  for  my  promise  is  contingent  upon 
your  yielding  up  Beatrice  to  me  in  such  health  as  when 
I  first  saw  her.  Farewell !  all  that  I  could  have  ever 
hoped  for  I  have  now  obtained." 

As  Henry  spoke  these  words,  Egen,  accompanied  with 
ten  soldiers  of  Worms,  rode  off  at  full  speed,  in  the 
same  direction  which  the  pilgrim  had  taken  that  morn- 
ing. The  words  of  Henry,  declaratory  of  the  consum- 
mation of  his  hopes,  might  be  said  still  to  linger  on  his 
lips,  when  there  arose,  from  his  own  camp,  towards 
which  he  was  at  the  moment  advancing,  a  wail  of  grief, 
so  vehement  in  its  expression,  and  so  womanish  by  its 
shrillness,  that  Henry,  despite  of  himself,  felt  his  heart 
quail  with  terror. 

"  Gracious  heavens ! "  he  exclaimed,  "  what,  at  such 


THE  RESULTS  OF  THE  BATTLE.         283 

a  time,  can  be  the  meaning  of  those  doleful  sounds  ? 
What  disaster  can  possibly  have  occurred  to  justify  them  ? 
Ha  !  Werenher,"  he  said,  "  you  here,  and  with  such  a 
woe-begone  visage.     Can  you  explain  this  to  me  ?  " 

"  I  can,"  answered  Werenher.  "  May  I  speak  with 
your  Majesty  alone  ?  " 

"  My  friends,"  said  Henry,  '^  ride  on,  all  of  you,  at 
full  speed,  to  your  several  quarters.  Enjoy,  or  repose 
yourselves,  whichever  you  choose.  Werenher  and  I 
shall  follow  slowly  after  you,  and  provide  for  the  care- 
ful guard  of  the  encampment  during  the  night.  And 
now,"  continued  Henry,  seeing  that  his  orders  had  been 
instantly  obeyed,  and  that  he  and  his  confidant  were 
alone,  "  what  is  the  meaning  of  all  this  ?  Wherefore 
do  you  look  so  sad  ?  and  why  is  it  that  the  camp  of  a 
conqueror  is  changed  into  an  abode  of  mourners  ?  " 

"  It  is,"  answered  Werenher,  "  because  the  precise 
results  of  this  day's  battle  have  been  ascertained." 

"  Well !  "  said  Henry,  "  and  that  should  be  a  cause 
of  rejoicing,  and  not  of  grief.  What  more  could  be 
desired,  than  to  see  an  army  of  forty  thousand  men,  in 
the  course  of  a  few  hoiu's,  annihilated  ?  " 

"  The  destruction  of  their  leaders,"  answered  We- 
renher. 

'^  And  they  are  assuredly  destroyed,"  said  Henry.  "  I 
saw  Otho  on  the  ground  myself  —  this  sword  struck  him 
down.      He,  with  the  others,  must  be  slain." 

"  Not  one  of  them,"  replied  Werenher. 

"  Not  one  of  them  !  "  cried  Henry,  in  amazement. 
*'  O,  you  say  that  which  is  impossible.  Plow  can  you 
so  positively  assert  that  which  is  incredible  1  " 

"  It  is  not  incredible,"  said  Werenher,  "  for  it  is  a 
fact  that  has  been  ascertained  beyond  the  possibility  of 
a  doubt.     Our  camp-followers  have  been  in  all  parts  of 


284  THE  POPE   AND  THE   EMPEROR. 

the  field  despoiling  the  bodies  of  the  dead,  and  they 
declare  that,  amongst  the  slain  Saxons,  there  has  not 
been  discovered  one  wearing  any  armor  but  that  which 
is  borne  by  a  common  soldier.  There  are  thousands 
wpon  thousands  of  the  rustics  slaughtered,  but  not  one 
bearing  the  rank  of  a  noble.  I  offered  a  large  reward 
for  the  discovery  of  the  body  of  Otho,  and  twenty  gold- 
en pieces  for  the  body  of  every  Saxon  noble ;  and  yet 
all  declare  that  there  is  no  such  thing  to  be  found  on  the 
field  of  battle." 

"  I  grieve  to  hear  this,"  answered  Henry.  "  It  is  an 
evil ;  but  it  is  not  irremediable.  I  am  sure  soon  to  catch 
these  fugitives  —  these  officers  who  have  no  soldiers  to 
command.  What  you  tell  me  is  a  misfortune  that  affects 
myself  more  than  any  one  else.  It  should  not  cause 
that  general  lamentation  which  fills  my  camp,  and  that 
I  hear  the  more  distinctly  the  nearer  I  approach  to  its 
trenches." 

"Nor  has  it,"  remarked  Werenher;  "your  soldiers 
are  grieving  for  their  comrades  and  commanders,  not 
for  the  escape  of  the  Saxon  nobles." 

"  How  ?  "  asked  Henry,  again  greatly  astonished. 
"  Have  we  not  won  a  complete  victory  ?  " 

"You  have,"  replied  Werenher.  "Never,  I  believe, 
could  a  conqueror  in  battle  count  so  many  of  his  enemies 
slain,  in  a  single  day,  as  your  Majesty  in  that  combat 
which  is  now  over.  It  is  a  complete  victory,  but  it  has 
been  dearly  purchased ;  for  you  have  annihilated  a  rab- 
ble ;  but,  in  doing  so,  you  have  lost  the  very  flower  of 
your  army.  You  have  slaughtered  a  mob  at  the  cost  of 
the  lives  of  nine  thousand  of  your  best  and  bravest 
soldiers.  Your  camp,  therefore,  presents  a  sad  specta- 
cle ;  for  there  may  now  be  seen  vassals  weeping  over  the 
mangled  remains  of  their  lords  —  fathers  for  their  sons  — • 


THE  RESULTS  OP  THE  BATTLE.  285 

sons  for  their  fotliers  —  brothers  for  brothers  —  kinsmen 
for  their  relations  —  their  joy  is  changed  into  grief — • 
their  exultation  to  sorrow  —  and  those  who  are  the  vic- 
tors seem  to  be  the  vanquished.  Counting  by  lives  their 
losses,  compared  with  those  of  the  Saxons,  are  insignifi- 
cant ;  but,  calculating  by  the  worth  of  those  who  have 
been  slain,  that  on  the  Saxon  side  is  nought,  and  ours 
is  irreparable." 

"  This  is  sad  news,"  said  Henry,  pausing,  and  musing 
for  a  few  minutes.  "  This  is,  in  sooth,  sad  neAvs,  and 
completely  unexpected  by  me.  It  is  not,  however,  as 
you  say,  irreparable.  Those  who  fight  as  soldiers  must 
calculate  upon  encountering  death,  whilst  their  survi- 
vors, who  bear  swords,  should  think  of  revenge,  and  not 
the  indulgence  of  a  useless  grief.  I  despise  those  crying 
warriors  ;  but  still  I  shall  pretend  to  sympathize  with 
them.  Werenher,  be  it  your  care,  at  the  earliest  dawn 
of  the  coming  day,  to  have,  at  once,  interred  all  the 
common  soldiers  in  my  army  that  have  been  slain.  Let 
us  conceal,  if  we  can,  from  ourselves,  the  extent  of  the 
loss  this  victory  has  cost  us.  As  to  the  nobles  and 
knights  who  have  fallen,  assure  their  friends  that,  at  my 
cost,  their  remains  shall,  with  all  the  honors  and  mag- 
nificence that  become  brave  men  slain  in  battle,  be 
conveyed  to  their  family  burial  grounds ;  whilst  the 
wounded  shall  receive  rich  rewards,  and  be  restored  in 
safety  to  their  respective  homes." 

"  But  how,"  asked  Werenher,  "  is  your  Majesty  to 
appease  the  indignation  of  the  army,  when  it  is  discov- 
ered that  they  have  lost  such  illustrious  commanders  as 
Ernest  of  Austria,  Count  Engelbert,  and  the  two  heroic 
sons  of  Count  Ellenburg  ;  and  this,  for  the  mere  purpose 
of  depriving  a  multitude  of   headstrong  boors  of  life  ? 


286         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROE. 

Be  assured,  they  will  feel  that  in  such  a  war  they  have 
been  degraded,  and  that  their  valor  has  been  wasted 
upon  a  most  worthless  object." 

"  Even  whilst  you  have  been  speaking  to  me,  AV"e- 
renher,"  answered  Henry,  "  I  have  devised  an  expedient 
which,  if  it  can  be  put  in  operation  —  and  it  shall  be  so 
—  will  have  the  effect  of  persuading  them  that  they,  as 
soldiers,  are  fighting  in  the  cause  of  religion,  and  in 
maintenance  of  the  rights  of  the  church." 

"  Of  religion  !  the  church  !  "  exclaimed  Werenher, 
surprised  at  the  words  of  Henry,  "  how  is  that  possible? " 

"  Ay  —  of  religion,  and  of  the  church,"  continued 
Henry  ;  "  remember,  that  the  old,  griping,  avaricious, 
cowardly  Archbishop  of  Mayence  has  been  deluded,  by 
me,  into  the  notion  that  this  war  is  entirely  undertaken 
on  his  behalf,  and  for  the  purpose  of  compelling  the  re- 
cusant Thuringians  and  Saxons  to  pay  him  the  tithes  he 
craves.  Be  it  your  duty  now  to  persuade  him,  for  he  is 
sometimes  visited  with  religious  scruples,  that  the  result 
of  this  day's  battle  proves  that  heaven  has  declared  in 
favor  of  his  claims ;  and  that,  as  I  have  aided  him  with 
the  secular  arm,  it  behoves  him  now  to  assist  me  with 
the  spiritual  weapons  at  his  command  —  that  he  should, 
therefore,  at  the  earliest  hour  in  the  morning,  advance 
with  his  clergy  to  the  royal  tent,  and  there,  in  presence 
of  all  my  army,  pronounce  sentence  of  excommunication 
upon  the  Saxons." 

"  Excommunication  !  "  said  Werenher  ;  "  why  no 
such  sentence  can  be  canonically  pronounced  until  after 
a  regular  trial  and  conviction  of  those  thus  condemned." 

"  Upon  him  then  rest  the  responsibility,  if  he  does 
that  which  he  is  not  authorized  to  do,"  observed  Henry. 
*'  Do  you  but  persuade  him  that  it  is  indispensable  for 


THE  RESULTS   OP  THE  BATTLE.  287 

the  recovery  of  his  tithes,  and  I  am  sure  he  will  not  re- 
fuse. Besides,  you  can  tell  him  that  his  excommunica- 
tion will  compel  the  Saxons  to  yield,  and,  whilst  it  se- 
cures to  him  the  riches  he  seeks  for,  will  also  save  much 
effusion  of  blood." 

"  I  shall  exert  myself  to  the  utmost,"  said  AVerenher  j 
"  but  in  case  the  archbishop  refuse " 

"  I  tell  you  that  he  will  not  do  so,"  answered  Henry. 
"  But  if  you  find  him  prating  about  religious  scruples, 
remind  him  that  he  is  in  a  camp,  and  not  in  a  church  — 
in  Langensalza,  and  not  in  Mayence  —  that  here  he  is 
bound  to  obey  me,  as  a  king,  and  if  he  refuse,  to  be  pun- 
ished, and  even  put  to  death  as  a  traitor.  Be  assured  that 
there  is  not  a  particle  of  the  martyr's  zeal  in  the  timid 
Sigefrid.  He  will  do  as  he  is  commanded  ;  especially  when 
he  is  once  convinced  that  he  has  a  strong  pecuniary  in- 
terest in  yielding  obedience.  With  a  sentence  of  ex- 
communication pronounced  against  the  Saxons,  there  is 
no  man  who  wields  a  sword  that  will  not  consider  it  to 
be  his  duty  to  fight  against  them.  With  that  expedient 
will  cease  all  murmurs  amongst  my  soldiers." 

"  But  it  is  an  expedient  that  Avill  force  the  Saxon 
nobles  to  desperation,  in  the  first  instance ;  and  will,  in 
the  next,  induce  them  to  appeal  to  Rome,  both  against 
you  and  the  archbishop,"  objected  Werenher. 

"  I  am  not  worthy  to  be  a  king,"  said  Henry,  "  if  I 
cannot  discover  a  pathway  through  the  maze  of  difficul- 
ties you  suggest.  I  shall  take  care  not  to  drive  the  Sax- 
on nobles  to  desperation,  for,  at  the  very  moment  that  I 
am  laying  waste  their  lands  with  fire  and  sword,  I  shall 
offer  to  them  terms  of  peace,  pardon,  and  an  ultimate 
restoration  of  their  property,  provided  they  will  yield 
themselves  as  my  prisoners.     I  mean  to  despatch  Duke 


288  THE  POPE   AND   THE  EMPEROR. 

Godfrey  on  a  mission  to  them  to-morrow,  with  the  most 
generous  offers.  He,  who  beheves  all  men  honest  as 
himself,  will  readily  undertake  such  an  office  ;  and  they, 
relying  upon  his  promises,  may  place  themselves  in  my 
power.  Let  them  but  do  so  —  I  need  not  tell  you  how- 
such  promises,  made  in  my  name,  shall  be  fulfilled.  As 
to  the  opposition  from  Kome  which  you  apprehend,  I 
have  no  fears  respecting  it.  Aided  by  your  cousin 
Croft,  I  have  little  doubt  but  that  a  Pope,  not  the  Pope 
of  Rome,  will  soon  be  my  best  supporter  and  my  surest 
friend.  This  victory,  Werenher,  is  not  as  decisive  as  I 
at  first  imagined ;  but  it  is  a  great  one,  and  it  will  be  my 
own  fault  if  it  does  not  place  at  my  disposal  greater  power 
than  any  monarch  on  this  earth  ever  before  wielded." 

"I  have  full  reliance  in  your  Majesty's  wisdom,"  said 
Werenher,  "  and  a  perfect  confidence  in  your  complete 
success." 

"  I  was  born  to  be  a  king,"  observed  Henry,  haugh- 
tily ;  "  and  I  do  not  feel  myself  to  be  so  as  long  as  any 
man  lives  who  thinks  he  can  oppose  me  with  impunity, 
or  presumes  to  fancy  that  he  is  in  any  way  my  equal. 
The  moment  Croft  returns  from  Hildesheim  I  Avish  to 
see  him;  he  is  the  bishop  I  delight  to  honor." 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

THE  HIDING-PLACE   OF  THE  SAXONS. 

It  was  night,  and  something  more  than  a  month  had 
passed  away  since  the  battle  of  Langensalza  had  been 


THE   HIDING-PLACE   OF  THE   SAXONS.  289 

fought  and  won  by  Henry  and  his  princely  vassals ; 
whilst  the  rich  lands  of  Saxony  were  traversed  and 
wasted  by  his  soldiers,  and  the  only  safe  place  of  refuge 
for  the  Saxon  nobility  and  prelacy  was  the  impenetrable 
fortress  of  Magdeburg. 

It  was  night,  and  passing  along  a  narrow  hill-path  that 
went  shelving  over  a  dark  and  swampy,  bush-covered 
valley,  might  be  seen  a  person  who  wore  the  helmet  and 
hauberk  of  a  soldier,  and  who  seemed  to  pause,  from 
time  to  time,  as  if  uncertain  whether  to  proceed  or  turn 
back. 

"  Fool  that  I  was  —  fool  that  I  am,"  exclaimed  the 
solitary  traveller,  "  fool,  to  have  permitted  Diedrich  to 
depart  without  me  from  Erzegebirge  ;  and  still  a  greater 
fool,  when  I  found  that  Egen  had  replaced  him,  to  set 
out  alone,  in  the  hope  that  I  might  make  my  way  to  the 
king's  camp  through  a  strange  country.  My  good  steed 
has  broken  down  under  me,  and  now,  some  accursed 
chance  has  brought  me  upon  a  path  which  it  is  equally 
dangerous  to  continue,  and  to  retrace.  0,  for  one  single 
gleam  of  moonlight  to  guide  me  in  this  horrid  night, 
and  over  this  frightful  pass  !  But  for  this  trusty  sword 
of  mine  I  must  long  since  have  tumbled  down  this  pre- 
cipice by  my  side." 

The  female  warrior,  Gertraud,  had  paused  for  a  mo- 
ment, thus  to  speak  aloud  her  thoughts.  She  resumed 
her  slow  and  onward  progress,  poking  with  her  sword- 
point  in  the  earth  as  she  proceeded,  and  occasionally 
gently  waving  it  about  her,  to  see  if  there  were  project- 
ing rocks  or  trees  which  might,  by  her  suddenly  coming 
in  contact  with  them,  throw  her  off  the  path  to  which 
she  clung  with  such  dilHculty. 

Gertraud  advanced  thus  doubtingly  along.  All  was 
25 


290  THE   POPE  AND  THE  ElIPEROE. 

silent  around  her,  and  not  even  the  hooting  of  the  owl 
was  to  be  heard.  The  perfect  stilhiess  of  the  night, 
combined  with  the  utter  darkness,  and  the  peril  of  tlie 
unknown  path  she  was  cautiously  treading,  produced  at 
last  their  benumbing  effect  upon  the  stout-hearted  wo- 
man ;  and  she  felt  —  it  was  the  first  time  in  her  life  — 
the  chill  of  fear  creeping  over  her. 

"  O,  for  the  warm,  staring  sunshine,"  she  exclaimed, 
*'  or,  even  the  cold,  clear  beams  of  the  moon,  though  it 
was  but  for  a  moment !  " 

These  few  words  had  scarcely  been  uttered,  when  the 
dark,  massy  clouds,  which  hitherto  had  concealed,  as  if 
in  a  profound  abyss  of  darkness,  the  broad  disk  of  the 
full  moon,  rolled  suddenly  away  —  alloAving  it  to  appear 
but  for  a  minute  —  and  then  closed  suddenly  together, 
as  if  some  Titanic  hand  had,  for  a  moment,  torn  violently 
asunder  their  sable  folds,  and  then  loosing  its  grasp, 
let  them  unite  again. 

There  was  moonlight  —  clear,  bright  moonlight  for  a 
minute  —  but  that  minute  sufficed  to  show  Gertraud  that 
she  was  pursuing  a  path  that  seemed  to  run,  as  far  as 
her  eye  could  reach,  upon  the  brink  of  a  narrow  and  ob- 
scure valley,  whilst  behind,  a  sudden  turn  in  the  hill 
concealed  from  her  the  point  on  which  she  must  have 
first  commenced  her  ascent.  The  hill  from  which  she 
gazed,  she  could  perceive,  was  but  the  base  of  a  range 
of  steep  mountains  that  rose  up,  like  a  high  wall,  upon 
the  side  of  the  valley  on  which  she  stood,  and  that  val- 
ley she  saw  was,  on  the  other  side,  closed  in  by  a  range 
of  dark,  rocky  mountains. 

Gertraud  stood  erect  as  she  made  this  survey.  "With 
the  moonlight  all  her  courage  revived,  and  she  seemed, 
when  thus  seen,  to  be  a  soldier,  who,  engaged  upon  a 


THE   HIDIXG-PLACE  OF   THE   SAXONS.  291 

warlike  expedition,  is  examining  the  ground  upon  which 
he  and  his  associates  might  be  required  to  act. 

"  It  is  a  Saxon  —  I  know  him  by  his  hehnet,"  ex- 
claimed a  voice,  about  fifty  yards  from  where  Gertraud 
stood.     "  Slay  him." 

The  whistling  of  a  flight  of  arrows  was  heard,  as  the 
dark  clouds  in  the  heavens  overhead  flew  together,  and 
at  the  same  instant  were  uttered  the  words  — "  O, 
God  !  "  and  then  —  the  path  on  which  Gertraud  stood 
showed  no  further  trace  of  her ! 

There  was  an  unbroken  stillness  for  several  minutes, 
and  then  four  men  crept  stealthily  along  the  path,  feel- 
ing with  their  sword-points  whilst  they  advanced,  as  if 
seeking  for  something  lying  upon  the  earth. 

"  The  Saxon  stood  within  fifty  yards  of  us ;  he  must 
have  fallen  here,"  said  one  of  the  men,  occupying  the 
very  spot  on  which  Gertraud  had  been  but  a  short  time 
previously.  "  0,"  he  continued,  placing  his  naked  hand 
on  the  earth,  "  the  Saxon  has  been  shot  —  the  earth  is 
moist  with  blood  —  he  must  have  tumbled  into  the  val- 
ley beneath.  He  is  worth  seeking  for  by  daylight,  if 
for  nought  more  than  his  golden-burnished  hauberk. 
One  clad  so  richly,  must  have  golden  coin  in  his  belt. 
"We  must  bring  our  dogs  with  us  in  the  morning.  They 
are  well  trained  in  the  search  for  hidden  treasures." 

"  We  must  bring  more  than  our  dogs  with  us,"  ob- 
served his  companion.  "  The  Saxon  we  have  slain,  you 
may  rest  assured,  was  not  alone.  Let  us  be  careful  then, 
in  seeking  for  his  gold,  we  do  not  meet  with  death  from 
his  companions." 

"  What  you  say,  Einhart,  is  prudent,"  remarked  the 
first  speaker.  "  Do  you  then  repair  to  the  tent  of  Duke 
Borziwog  —  report  to  him  what  has  occurred,  and  what 


292         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

you  apprehend.  "Where  there  is  a  chance  of  phinder, 
or  of  a  battle,  Borziwog  is  too  true  a  Bohemian  not  to 
be  on  the  alert ;  we,  meanwhile,  shall  return  to  our  post, 
far  happier  than  when  we  were  first  stationed  there, 
since  we  have  had  the  good  fortune  to  slay  a  Saxon, 
sword  in  hand." 

With  these  words,  the  four  Bohemians  slunk  back  to 
the  cave  in  the  hill  side,  from  which  they  had  discharged 
their  arrows  at  the  unsuspecting  Gertraud.        ^ 

Of  the  four  arrows  discharged  at  the  same  moment  at 
Gertraud,  one  had  flown  wide  of  the  mark  ;  the  second 
had  struck  her  helmet,  and  rebounded  from  it ;  the 
third  had  gashed  her  neck,  and  covered  her  and  the 
place  on  which  she  stood  with  her  blood  ;  and  the  fourth 
had  plunged  into  her  body  with  such  fearful  force,  as  to 
carry  her  at  once  from  the  pathway  down  the  precipitous 
bank,  and  to  extort  from  her,  by  the  agony  it  cost,  an 
exclamation,  which  habit,  and  not  a  sense  of  religion, 
induced  her  to  utter. 

Hour  after  hour  passed  away,  of  which  every  moment 
was  an  intense  torture  to  the  suffering,  mangled,  and 
bruised  body  of  Gertraud.  Thus  she  lay  in  complete 
darkness  —  one  quivering  mass,  rather  of  sensation  than 
of  thought ;  and  then,  as  the  morning  sun  arose,  human 
nature  gave  way  —  the  strong  woman  fainted  —  and  she 
lay  as  one  that  was  already  dead,  in  a  clammy  pool 
formed  of  her  own  blood. 

When  Gertraud  recovered  her  consciousness,  she  found 
that  she  lay  upon  a  soft  bed,  composed  of  dry  herbage , 
and  that  this  bed  was  placed  in  a  sort  of  tent  —  if  tent 
it  could  be  called  —  which  seemed  to  be  made  of  an 
awning  of  cloth,  v.'hich,  fastened  from  tree  to  tree,  seemed 
merely  designed  to  shade  those  who  sat  beneath  from  the 


THE   HIDING-rLACE   OP  THE  SAXONS.  293 

rays  of  the  sun,  whilst,  open  upon  all  sides,  it  permitted 
the  eye  to  reach  to  the  most  distant  parts  of  the  valley. 
Gertraud  gazed  around,  and  saw  some  hundreds  of  per- 
sons variously  occupied  ;  some,  sitting  on  the  grass,  con- 
versing together ;  others  preparing  their  food ;  some 
carrying  with  them  provisions  —  the  results,  plainly,  of 
the  chase,  in  which  they  had  been  engaged  —  others 
shaping  out  arrows ;  some  furbushing  their  swords  ; 
whilst  soldiers,  hunters,  women,  and  even  children,  were 
mingled  together ;  and  all  were  silent,  and  all  looked 
sorrowful. 

"  Is  this  a  dream  ?  "  said  Gertraud,  sighing  Avith  pain 
as  she  spoke.     "  I  have  never  seen  aught  like  this  be- 
fore." 

"  It  is  no  dream,  my  child,"  said  an  old  woman,  plac- 
ing a  goblet,  filled  with  cold  water,  to  the  parched  lips 
of  Gertraud.  "It  is  a  sad  reality.  Those  that  you 
now  look  upon  are  Saxons.  They  have  fled  to  this  wil- 
derness, in  the  hope  they  may  escape  the  persecution  of 
the  merciless  myrmidons  of  our  cruel  King  Henry  ; 
and,  above  all,  they  have  fled  from  the  murderous 
swords,  the  brutal  passions,  and  the  insatiable  cupidity 
of  the  ruthless  Borziwog  and  his  Bohemians,  Alas ! 
there  is  scarcely  a  man,  or  woman,  or  child,  that  you 
now  behold,  that  has  not  to  deplore  the  death,  by  vio- 
lence, within  the  last  month,  of  some  near  and  dear  re- 
lation. There  is  scarcely  one  of  them  but  has  lost-  a 
wife,  a  sister,  a  daughter,  a  father,  a  brother,  or  a  son  ; 
for  there  is  no  respect  shown  by  the  king's  soldiers  to 
the  weakness  of  women,  the  innocence  of  childhood,  or 
the  imbecility  of  age.  A  month  ago,  and  all  you  now 
see  before  you  were  free,  were  happy,  and  were  content- 
ed. Many  of  them  were  rich ;  and  there  is  not  one  of 
ox  * 


294  TSnE  POPE   AND   THE   EJIPEROE. 

them  now  that  is  not  poor  as  the  meanest  mendicant  that 
seeks  ahns  at  a  monastery  gate.  They  have  seen  their 
homesteads  and  their  farm-yards  burned  down,  their  cat- 
tle slaughtered,  their  crops  fired,  and  their  relatives  mur- 
dered. Wonder  not,  then,  that  you  see  them  all  thus 
woe-begone  —  for  they  know,  that  if  they  are  discovered 
by  the  Bohemians,  who  search  for  the  Saxons  every 
where,  in  the  marsh,  the  forest,  and  on  the  mountain  top, 
their  death  —  and  not  improbably  a  torturing  death  — 
will  be  inflicted  upon  them.  O,  God,  have  mercy,  my 
child,  on  those  who  delight  in  war  ;  for,  if  he  be  as  piti- 
less to  them,  as  they  are  to  their  fellow-creatures,  then, 
a  never-ending  death  must  be  reserved  for  them  in  another 
world." 

Gertraud  shuddered  as  she  heard  these  words  pro- 
nounced. Weakened  with  loss  of  blood,  and  agonized 
with  pain,  she  was,  for  the  first  time,  an  eye-witness  to 
the  consequences  of  war,  when  accompanied  with  a  dis- 
astrous defeat,  and  she  loathed,  from  that  moment,  that 
which,  hitherto,  she  had  so  much  loved. 

"  O,  God  !  "  she  cried,  "  have  mercy  on  me  !  —  the 
worst  of  sinners  —  pardon  me,  the  worst  of  women,  who 
have  forsworn  my  sex,  and  forgotten  my  Creator,  in 
my  admiration  of  that  which  I  now  see  is  but  murder 
and  rapine,  disguised  under  a  false  name !  " 

''  If  you  have  sinned  thus,  I  trust  God  will  forgive 
you,"  continued  the  aged  female.  "  But  what  you  now 
behold  can  give  you  but  a  scanty  idea  of  the  horrors  of 
the  war  that  King  Henry  is  waging  against  the  Saxons. 
Ho  has  consigned  us  all  to  the  l^ohcmians,  to  be  treated 
as  these  half-infidels  please.  I,  myself,  bear  the  scar  of 
a  Bohemian  sAVord  iijion  my  forehead,  inflicted  upon  mc 
within  the  holy  precincts   of  a  church  to  which,  with 


THE  HIDING-PLACE  OP  THE  SAXONS.  295 

Other  women,  I  had  fled  for  shelter,  and  where  I  saw  first 
its  altars  despoiled,  and  then  its  roof  set  on  fire  by  those 
unbelievers.  It  is  in  vain  that  the  fugitive  Saxons  seek 
to  hide  from  them  their  treasures,  or  to  conceal  them- 
selves. The  Bohemians  never  cease  in  their  search,  and 
never  tire  in  pursuit.  Silver  and  gold,  and  gorgeous 
garments,  and  articles  of  value  are  dug  up  by  them,  and 
dogs,  trained  by  them,  point  out  every  spot  in  which  the 
eai'th  has  been  recently  stirred  —  and  these  animals  can 
detect  the  glitter  of  the  precious  metals  even  in  the 
darkest  hole  of  the  most  gloomy  cave.  Sought  for  by 
them  whithersoever  we  fly,  we  would  willingly  yield  to 
them  our  wealth,  if  they  would  spare  our  lives,  or  if 
they  did  not  seek  to  extort,  by  torture,  the  possession  of 
the  riches  they  crave.  We  live  in  momentary  fear  of 
death,  and  we  daily  prepare  for  its  approach,  I  hope 
worthily,  in  the  maimer  you  are  now  about  to  witness." 

As  the  woman  spoke,  the  gentle  tinkling  of  a  bell  was 
heard,  and  the  occupations  of  all  ceased.  All  gathered, 
rank  after  rank,  behind  the  rustic  couch  on  which  Ger- 
traud  was  lying,  and  that  was  placed  but  a  few  paces* 
distance  from  what  appeared  to  Gertraud  to  be  a  narrow 
table,  on  which  was  placed  a  statue,  covered  over  with 
white  cloths. 

Gertraud  did  not  hear  the  tinkling  bell,  for  her  whole 
soul  was  absorbed  in  the  words  of  her  aged  nurse. 

"  And  this,"  she  cried,  "  this  is  war  !  The  burning 
of  churches,  the  dishonor  of  women,  the  murder  of 
men,  the  massacre  of  children,  the  destruction  of  prop- 
erty, the  defacement  of  the  works  of  God !  O,  heaven 
have  mercy  on  me,  for  I  repent,  bitterly  repent  of  my 
past  life." 

As  she  spoke  these  words,  she  saw  the  white  cloths 


296         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

withdrawn  from  -what  she  conceived  to  be  a  table  and  a 
statue,  and  there  stood  revealed  to  her  an  altar,  on 
which  was  raised  a  cross  of  pure  gold,  glittering  with 
jewelry,  that  had  manifestly  originally  belonged  to  some 
rich  monastery.  On  each  side  of  the  altar  were  candle- 
sticks of  gold,  and  in  the  centre,  a  magnificent  chalice, 
with  its  patena  of  gold. 

Gertraud  gazed  at  this  spectacle  with  wonder ;  but 
that  wonder  became  delight,  despite  of  all  her  sufferings, 
when  she  saw  the  candles  lighted  up,  as  if  for  the  holy 
sacrifice  of  the  Mass. 

"  Alas  !  alas  !  sinner  that  I  am,"  exclaimed  Gertraud, 
bursting  into  tears.  "  God  is  very  merciful  to  me.  He 
permits  me,  before  I  die,  to  be  present  at  this  solemn 
sacrifice,  which  I  have  never  witnessed  since  I  prayed 
before  him  in  my  innocent  girlhood." 

"  My  child,"  said  a  priest,  whose  hairs  were  as  snow- 
white  as  the  alb  with  which  he  was  invested,  "  I  am 
now  about  to  ascend  the  altar ;  but  before  I  do  so,  I 
would  wish  you  to  receive  the  Holy  Communion." 

"  Me  —  Communion !  "  exclaimed  Gertraud.  "  Alas ! 
father,  I  am  not  Avorthy  to  hear  even  the  bell  that  rings 
for  the  faithful  to  come  and  worship  him  whom  they 
have  served.  Never  —  never  —  O,  never  have  you* 
looked  upon  so  great  a  sinner  as  now  writhes  in  agony 
of  body,  but  still  greater  agony  of  soul,  before  you. 
O,  father,  look  upon  me  Avith  horror  ;  for  I  look  with 
horror  upon  myself,  and  detest  my  sins  from  the  bottom 
of  my  heart." 

"  My  child,"  said  the  priest,  "  I  recognize  In  you  the 
best  dispositions  for  that  holy  feast  to  which  I  invite  you 
—  for  you  bring  to  it  humility  and  repentance.  Do 
you  desire  to  confess  your  sins,  that  they  may  be  for- 


THE  HIDING-PLACE   OP  THE  SAXONS.  297 

given  —  then  address  your  tlioughts  to  him  whose  image 
is  on  that  altar,  and  your  words  to  my  ear.  Remember, 
you  have  his  promise,  that,  complying  with  the  condi- 
tions which  he  has  imposed,  in  establishing  his  church 
upon  this  earth,  those  sins,  be  they  ever  so  great,  shall 
be  remitted." 

*'  Father  !  father  !  "  said  the  weak  and  exhausted  Ger- 
traud,  "  then  hear  my  confession  speedily,  for  I  feel  that 
my  strength  is  fast  departing  from  me." 

The  old  priest  knelt  down  by  the  couch  of  Gertraud. 
Those  who  gazed  at  a  distance  upon  the  confessor  and 
the  penitent,  could  perceive  the  latter  frequently  to 
wring  her  hands,  as  if  in  bitter  agony,  and  then  all  mo- 
tion, upon  her  part,  ceased.  The  confessor,  on  the  other 
hand,  who  had  remained  quiescent,  was  seen  to  leanjiis 
head  towards  her,  as  if  exhorting  her,  and  then,  making 
the  sign  of  the  cross  over  her,  all  felt  assured  he  had 
given  her  absolution. 

When  this  was  seen,  all  advanced  again,  close  to 
where  Gertraud  lay,  and  the  priest,  addressing  them, 
said :  — 

"  My  children,  death,  at  this  moment,  impends  over 
the  head  of  all  of  us.  We  know  not  when  it  may  come 
upon  us  —  to-day,  or  to-morrow,  or  the  day  after  ;  but, 
for  our  suffering  sister,  who  lies  here,  it  is  inevitable. 
Before  an  hour  has  passed  away,  she  will  be  numbered 
with  the  dead.  She,  therefore,  urgently  demands  all 
our  prayers.  Let  us  all,  at  the  same  moment,  as  faith- 
ful, believing,  and  truly  penitent  sinners,  join  in  the 
same  awful  sacrifice,  and  partake,  Avith  her,  of  the  same 
Holy  Communion." 

The  people  ranged  themselves  according  to  the  an- 
cient Eoman  order,  in  front  of  the  altar,  the  men  on  the 


298  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

south,  and  the  women  on  the  northern  side.  The  priest, 
attended  by  his  clerks,  proceeded  to  the  altar,  arrayed 
himself  in  his  vestments,  said  mass,  gave  the  Com- 
munion to  Gertraud,  and  to  all  the  grown-up  persons  of 
his  congregation,  (for  all  had  been  prepared  to  receive 
it,)  and  he  had  turned  to  them,  and  was  in  the  act  of 
pronouncing  the  benediction  upon  all  present,  with  the 
eyes  of  Gertraud  intently  fixed  upon  him,  when  a  rush- 
ing noise  was  heard  in  the  air,  and  she  saw  the  crucifix 
struck  and  overthrown,  the  chalice  shivered,  and  the 
priest,  covered  with  blood,  falling  lifeless  to  the  earth 
before  the  altar  at  which  he  had  officiated.  At  the  same 
instant  was  heard  the  yelping  of  dogs,  the  shouts  of 
soldiers,  as  they  dashed  forward,  with  glittering  swords, 
to  seize  the  altar  ornaments  of  gold,  and  then  there 
rung  in  her  ears  the  shrieks  of  women  and  the  cries  of 
terrified  children. 

"  And  this  is  war !  glorious  war !  "  exclaimed  Ger- 
traud, as  a  thrill  of  horror  ran  through  her  veins.  "  I 
have  loved  such  deeds  as  this  —  O,  heaven  spare  me 
—  have  mercy  wpon  me  ;  for  I  have  sinned,  and  I  know 
not  what  I  did.      Mercy  !  mercy  ! " 

As  she  spoke  these  words  blood  gushed  from  the  lips 
of  Gertraud,  and  she  lay  like  a  corpse  in  the  midst  of  a 
scene  of  carnage.  The  prayer  of  Gertraud  was  poured 
forth  amidst  a  scene  of  terrible  carnage  ;  for  the  Bohe- 
mians, who  had  supposed,  in  bursting  into  the  Saxons' 
hiding-place,  that  they  would  have,  at  the  utmost,  but  a 
few  spiritless  soldiers  to  cut  down,  found  themselves, 
when  the  first  surprise  was  over,  opposed  to  a  band  of 
brave  Saxons,  who  met  them  on  every  side,  singly,  or 
in  groups,  and  who,  thoughtful  of  their  good  old  priest, 
mui'dered  before    their   eyes,  inflicted  a  death-wound 


THE   HIDING-PLACE  OP  THE  SAXONS.  299 

"upon    every    Bohemian    they    could    reach   with    their 
swords. 

"Back,  men  —  back,"  cried  Borziwog,  to  his  rude 
Bohemian  followers.  "  Take  shelter  behind  those  trees, 
and  from  thence  you  can  shoot,  like  wild  beasts,  those 
Saxons  —  men  and  Avomen." 

"  On,  Saxons  —  on  !  "  exclaimed  a  voice  from  behind 
the  rearmost  rank  of  the  Bohemians.  "  Charge  those 
vile  Bohemians  with  your  swords  in  the  front.  We 
shall  meet  them  here  as  they  retreat." 

These  words  were  spoken  by  Bernhard,  the  forester, 
who  was  seen  at  the  head  of  some  thousand  armed  rus- 
tics, dashing  down  the  sides  of  the  valley. 

The  Saxons,  who  had  been  surprised  in  the  valley, 
advanced,  amid  a  shower  of  arrows,  towards  the  trees 
where  the  Bohemians  had  retreated,  and,  although  they 
left  some  dead  bodies  behind  them  as  they  advanced, 
still  they  closed  with  the  robber  band  of  Borziwog,  and 
the  loud  clash  of  swords  was  heard  for  a  few  moments, 
then  groans,  and  the  shrieking  Bohemians  burst  forth 
from  the  trees,  pursued  by  the  Saxons,  and  whenever 
overtaken,  cut  down  at  once.  Bernhard  seemed  to  have 
singled  out  Duke  Borziwog  for  his  opponent,  as,  wher- 
ever the  Bohemian  duke  turned,  he  followed,  and,  at 
length,  coming  up  with  him,  struck  the  Bohemian,  as  he 
ran,  so  heavy  a  blow  on  the  back  of  his  helmet,  that 
Borziwog  fell  senseless  to  the  earth. 

Three  of  the  Saxon  rustics  rushed  forward  to  plunge 
their  swords  into  the  body  of  Borziwog,  when  they  saw 
him  thus  prostrate  on  the  earth.  Bernhard,  however, 
interposed  to  preserve  him,  saying  — 

"Xo  —  for  such  a  base  wretch  as  this  there  is  a  pun 
ishment  worse  than  death.     He  has  degraded  his  duke- 


300  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

dom  by  his  cliurcli  robberies,  his  private  pilferings,  and 
his  priest  murders.  We  must  send  him  forth  amongst 
his  fellow-men,  a  disgrace  to  his  country,  and  a  scorn 
even  to  the  poorest  wretch  that  walks  this  earth.  Let 
him  be  as  a  leper  amongst  the  princes  of  the  empire." 

"  What !  "  said  one  of  the  Saxon  rustics,  "  will  you 
spare  the  life  of  him  who  murdered  my  helpless  old 
father  ?  " 

"  Will  you,"  cried  another,  somewhat  indignantly, 
"  allow  him  to  live  who  has  slain  the  priest  at  the 
altar  ? " 

"  Bind  his  hands  ;  raise  him  from  the  earth  —  harm 
him  not ;  and  when  you  have  heard  what  I  have  said  to 
him,  then  determine  if  you  would  wish  him  to  die," 
was  the  answer  that  Bernhard  gave  to  the  infuriated 
Saxons. 

Borziwog,  who  had  been  merely  stunned  by  the  blow 
which  Bernhard  had  inflicted,  was  placed,  by  his  captors, 
standing  erect,  in  front  of  the  man  who  now  assumed, 
in  his  demeanor,  all  the  gravity  of  a  judge,  as  he  pro- 
ceeded to  question  his  prisoner. 

"  You  are,"  said  Bernhard,  "  the  notorious  Borziwog, 
Duke  of  Bohemia." 

"  Such  is  my  name,  and  such  my  title,"  answered  the 
prisoner,  looking  scornfully  at  his  captor.  "  Who,  may 
I  ask,  is  it  presumes  thus  to  question  me,  as  if  he  were 
my  superior  in  birth  and  in  rank  ?  " 

"By  birth,  I  am  a  serf;  by  charter,  a  freeman;  by 
my  sword,  your  captor  ;  and,  therefore,  by  right  of  war, 
your  superior ;  and  now,  in  the  name  of  oppressed  and 
rightfully  insurgent  Saxony,  your  judge." 

"  My  judge  !  A  prince  judged  by  a  serf —  a  noble  by 
a  freedman.     Ho  !  ho  !  "  laughed  Borziwog.     "  The  man 


THE   HIDING-PLACE   OF    THE   SAXONS.  301 

is  mad.  "Whoever  yet  heard  of  an  inferior  sitting  in 
judgment  upon  his  superior  i  " 

"  You  are  my  inferior,"  gravely  and  solemnly  replied 
Bernhard. 

"  Your  inferior  !  "  said  Borziwog,  amazed  at  the  per- 
tinacity of  the  forester. 

"  Yes  ;  my  inferior  in  every  thing  which  it  is  no  merit 
in  you  to  possess  —  the  chance  of  birth,  and  the  acci- 
dent of  rank.  You  are  my  inferior,  for  you  are  degrad- 
ed by  crime,  and  I  am  innocent  —  my  inferior,  for  you 
are  debased  by  vices,  and  I  am  unstained  by  them  — 
my  inferior,  for  you  have  murdered  the  young  and  the 
old,  the  priest  in  his  sacerdotal  robes,  and  the  mother 
in  the  midst  of  her  children.  Born  a  duke,  you  have 
descended  to  the  practices  of  the  meanest  thief — in 
name,  a  Christian,  you  have  laid  your  unhallowed  hands 
upon  the  altar,  and  robbed  it  of  its  sacred  vessels.  Un- 
injured by  the  Saxons,  you  have  made  yourself  their 
scourge." 

"  Fellow,"  replied  Borziwog,  "  what  I  have  done  has 
been  in  obedience  to  the  commands  of  King  Henry  — 
of  ray  king,  and  of  yours.  To  him,  alone,  am  I  re- 
sponsible." 

"  0,  yes ;  there  are  others  to  whom  you  are  responsi- 
ble ;  to  God,  whom  you  have  offended,"  answered  Bern- 
hard,  "  and  whose  mercy  time  will  be  given  you  to  in- 
voke ;  and  you  are  next  responsible  to  Saxony,  whose 
unoffending  people  you  have  persecuted." 

"  Calculate  what  you  call  my  offences,"  said  Borziwog, 
"  in  coin,  and,  be  the  amount  what  it  may,  the  blood- 
fine  shall  be  paid  to  you.  It  is  a  good  old  Saxon  prac- 
tice, and  I  am  ready  to  comply  with  it." 

"  You  have  no  right,"  observed  Bernhard,  "  to  appeal 
2Q 


302         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

to  the  German  custom  of  blood-fines  ;  for  your  homicides 
did  not  originate  in  any  sudden  gust  of  passion  —  they 
all  spring  from  a  base  and  sordid  avarice.  Yours  have 
been  the  crimes  of  a  fugitive  slave  ;  and,  as  a  fugitive 
slave  —  as  a  debased  villain,  you  shall  be  punished. 
Were  you  a  mere  prisoner  of  war,  you  should  be  treated 
generously,  until  restored  to  your  friends  ;  but,  as  it  is, 
you  shall  be  mutilated  as  a  despicable  Avretch  —  as  one 
with  whom  no  honest  man  can  for  the  future  associate. 
Here,"  said  Bernhard  to  the  three  Saxons  who  stood  by 
his  side  —  "  cast  this  miscreant  upon  the  earth,  slit  open, 
his  nostrils,  cut  off  one  of  his  ears,  and  then,  from  where 
his  hair  first  springs  from  his  forehead  to  the  topmost  point 
of  the  skull,  cut  all  the  hair,  and  with  the  hair,  the  skin 
from  his  head  ;  so  that,  as  long  as  he  lives,  he  may  bear 
about  him  the  marks  of  the  most  infamous  punishment 
that  can  be  inflicted." 

"  O,  mercy !  mercy  !  mercy ! "  exclaimed  Borziwog, 
when  he  heard  these  words. 

"  As  little  mercy  as  you  ever  showed  to  man,  woman, 
or  child,"  said  Bernhard,  as  he  walked  from  the  place 
of  execution,  from  which  speedily  arose  the  heart-thrill- 
ing shrieks  of  the  tortured  Duke  of  Bohemia. 

Bernhard  advanced  through  the  tangled  brushwood 
of  the  valley  towards  that  portion  in  which  he  perceived 
that  an  awning  had  been  erected.  As  he  advanced,  he 
found  his  path  strewed  with  the  bodies  of  the  slaugh- 
tered Saxons  and  the  slain  Bohemians,  whilst,  here  and 
there,  were  still  to  be  seen,  Saxons  writhing  with  pain 
from  their  wounds,  and  Bohemians  rendered  moveless  by 
the  gyves  that  fettered  their  limbs. 

"Upon  entering  beneath  the  awning,  the  first  thing  that 
attracted  the  attention  of  Bernhard  was  to  find  that  the 


THE   HIDING-PLACE   OF   THE   SAXONS.  303 

temporary  altar,  -^-ith  its  golden  ornaments,  -was  surround- 
ed on  all  sides  by  a  pack  of  Bohemian  dogs,  -who  yelped, 
and  looked  around  it,  as  hounds  do  when  the  animal  of 
■which  they  are  in  pursuit  has  been  discovered. 

"  Poor  brutes  !  "  exclaimed  Bernhard,  "the  perverse 
ingenuity  of  man  has  made  them,  unwittingly  to  them- 
selves, the  instruments  of  persecution  to  the  hapless  race 
of  Saxons,  These  are  the  dogs  of  Borziwog,  that  have 
been  taught  by  him  to  search  for  hidden  treasures,  and 
who  are  now  calling  upon  him  to  come  and  seize  upon 
what  they  have  tracked  out  for  h.im.  They  will  wait 
patiently  to  have  their  throats  cut,"  said  Bernhard  to 
his  followers  —  "  slay  them  all !  " 

"Bernhard  —  brave  Bernhard  —  come  hither,"  cried 
the  faint  voice  of  one  who  lay  like  to  a  person  dead,  and 
stretched  close  to  the  pathway  on  which  the  gallant  for- 
ester stood. 

"  "Who  calls  on  me  ? "  asked  Bernhard,  stooping  down, 
and  taking  in  his  own  the  now  heavy,  ice-cold  hand  of 
Gertraud. 

"  It  is  she  who  saved  your  life  at  Erzegebirge,"  an- 
swered Gertraud.  "  That  is  one  good  act  of  my  life  — 
thank  God !  for,  if  I  had  not  exchanged  helmets  with, 
you  —  if  I  had  not  been  mistaken,  by  the  wearing  of 
your  four-cornered  Saxon  helmet,  for  a  Saxon,  the  Bohe- 
mians never  would  have  discharged  their  arrows  at  me." 

""What!"  cried- Bernhard,  "have  those  vile  Bohemi- 
ans slain  you,  though  an  ally  ?  It  is  well  for  Borziwog 
I  did  not  know  this  before  I  had  passed  sentence  upon 
him." 

*'  Slay  no  more  Bohemians,"  said  Gertraud,  "spare  them 
for  my  sake ;  for  unwittingly  they  have  slain  me,  and, 
unintentionally,  they  have  conferred  upon  me  the  great- 


304  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

est  blessing  which  mortal  can  possess  —  that  of  being 
reconciled  to  God  through  the  sacraments  of  the  church. 
Alas !  Bernhard,  I  have  loved  war  for  its  own  sake ;  and 
I  have  been  forgetful  that  it  is  never  justifiable  but  in 
defence  of  religion  —  of  a  sovereign's  right  —  or  a  peo- 
ple's freedom.  For  me  to  grasp  a  shield  was  a  crime  : 
with  you,  it  is  a  virtue.  Ah !  woe  to  me  !  I  challenged 
you  to  meet  me  sword  in  hand,  and  now  you  have  come 
to  see  me  die  by  the  weapons  of  those  to  whom  I  had 
washed  success.  Bernhard,  I  have  two  requests  to  make 
of  you." 

"Name  them,"  said  Bernhard  —  "if  it  be  possible 
to  perform  them,  they  shall  be  executed ;  for,  now  I 
may  say  to  thee,  that  which  otherwise  might  be  regarded 
as  rude  and  unbecoming,  that  never  until  I  encountered 
you,  did  I  see  woman  worthy  of  the  love  and  devotion 

man. 

A  faint  smile  lighted,  for  a  moment,  upon  the  pale 
and  trembling  lips  of  Gertraud,  as  her  own  thoughts 
respecting  Bernhard  recurred  to  her  memoiy.  The 
smile  passed  speedily  away,  and  it  was  succeeded  by  a 
deep  sigh,  as  she  said : 

"  In  this  world,  dear  friend,  there  is  nought  but  vex- 
ation of  spirit.  My  time  presses.  Of  the  two  requests 
I  have  to  make,  one  is  possible,  the  other  may  prove  im- 
practicable. The  first  is,  that  you  will  see  the  saintly 
maiden,  Beatrice,  and  her  iaithful  companion,  Gretchen, 
and  beg  that  both  will  forgive  me  —  both  pray  for  the 
repose  of  my  soul  —  because  it  was  I  who  betrayed  their 
secret  to  Diedrich," 

It  was  the  first  time  the  wretched  woman  had  pro- 
nounced that  once-prized  name,  from  the  moment  she 
had  been  wounded ;  and,  as  she  gave  utterance  to  it,  a 


THE  HIDING-PLACE  OF  THE  SAXONS.  305 

slilver  of  horror  made  every  limb  tremble.  She  closed 
her  eyes,  as  if  suffering  intense  pain,  and  then  pro- 
ceeded :  — 

"Bernhard  —  if  it  be  possible  —  if  without  exposing 
your  own  life  to  imminent  danger,  you  can  see  and  speak 
with  Diedrich,  do  so.  Bear  to  him  my  last  request,  that 
he  will  think  over  his  life  of  sin  and  of  blood  —  that  he 
will  repent,  if  it  be  possible  —  that  he  will,  as  I  have 
done,  humbly  confide  himself  to  the  mercy  of  God. 
Will  you  do  this  ?  " 

"  I  will,"  answered  Bernhard,  "  even  though  I  think 
the  attempt  will  be  made  in  vain ;  for,  who  can  hope  to 
see  that  God  will  be  merciful  to  one  who  has  shed  the 
blood  of  a  holy  bishop  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  Bernhard,  Bernhard  !  "  cried  the  weak  and  fal- 
tering Gertraud,  "  Judas  himself  would  have  been  for- 
given, if  he  had  sincerely  repented  of  his  sin.  As  I  was 
misled  by  ray  admiration  for  the  courage  of  Diedrich, 
so  has  Diedrich  been  misled  by  his  besotted  devotion  to 
King  Henry.  Tell  him,  that  my  last  prayer  was  for  his 
sincere  repentance ;  bid  him  seek  for  it  tlxrough  the 
intercession  of  the  Blessed  Virgin." 

"  Again,  I  promise  you,"  said  Bernhard,  *'  that  if  it 
be  within  my  power  to  fulfil  this  wish,  it  shall  be  per- 
formed ;  and  if  heaven  desire  that  the  grace  of  repent- 
ance be  bestowed  on  Diedrich,  such  means  will  be  af- 
forded to  me  —  but  —  Gertraud  —  dear  Gertraud  —  you 
are  dying ! "  exclaimed  Bernhard,  as  he  perceived  her 
eyes  assume  a  fixed  and  glassy  look. 

Gertraud  no  longer  saw  nor  heard  him.     Her  eyes  and 
ears  were  alike  closed  to  this  world  —  a  smile  was  on 
her  lips,  as  she  murmured  forth  — 
26* 


306         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROE. 

"To  the  church  —  to  the  altar  of  the  margin  —  sing 
Ermold's  hymn  —  it  is  so  sweet,  when  chanted  by  the 
nuns: — 

•  Hear,  holy  mother !  Virgin  fair ! 
Hear,  O,  hear  my  humble  prayer. 
And  help  me  in  this  hour  of  care. 

•Say  to  thy  Son,  I  rerverence  thee, 
And  He  will  love  me  tenderly, 
And  soothe  my  sorrows  constantly. 

•  Help  me,  Mary,  sin  to  fly, 
Help  me,  when  in  pain  I  sigh. 
Help  me,  Mary,  wheu  I  die.' ' 

"With  these  words,  slowly  and  indistinctly  uttered,  broke 
thr  leart  of  Gertraud,  and  she  now  lay  stiff,  blood-stained, 
and  lifeless,  like  the  martyred  priest,  who  had,  but  an 
hour  prf^riously,  administered  the  last  sacraments  to  her. 

Bernhard,  as  he  looked  upon  her,  covered  his  face 
with  his  hands,  and  wept  like  a  child. 

"  To  all,"  cried  Bernhard,  "  friends  and  foes  alike,  one 
common  grave.  Now  then  for  our  prisoners  —  those 
vile  Bohemians  —  shave  their  heads  of  every  scrap  of 
hair,  so  that  they  may  hereafter  be  known  to  be  ruffians 
who  have  been  punished  as  thieves,  and  did  not  deserve 
to  be  treated  as  prisoners.  When  shorn,  tie  them  to 
trees ;  but  leave  the  hands  of  their  duke  free,  that  he 
may  loose  them  when  we  have  departed.  To  work  —  to 
work,  men,  speedily  3  for  before  nightfall  we  must  be 
on  our  road  to  Erzegebirge.'* 


THE   ENVOY.  307 

CHAPTER     XXIV. 

THE    ENVOY. 

Godfrey  of  Lorraine  had  willingly  undertaken  the 
task  which  Henry  had  confided  to  him,  of  seeking  out 
the  Saxon  nobles  and  prelates,  and  tendering  to  them 
the  king's  full  pardon,  on  condition  that  they  would,  in 
presence  of  the  army  of  the  empire,  place  themselves  in 
his  hands,  and  publicly  submit  to  him.  An  obstacle 
to  the  successful  accomplishment  of  this  negotiation 
presented  itself,  on  which  Godfrey  had  not  calculated ; 
and  that  was,  the  universal  distrust  entertained  by  the 
Saxons  with  regard  to  the  promises  of  Henry.  None 
believed  in  his  sincerity,  none  confided  in  his  declarations, 
and  none  seemed  disposed  to  place  life  or  liberty  at  his 
disposal. 

"  But  how,"  asked  Godfrey,  at  a  conference  with  the 
nobles  of  Saxony,  "  how  am  I  to  remove  your  suspicions, 
which  I  believe  to  be  unfounded,  and  how  dissipate  your 
fears,  which  I  am  convinced  are  vain  .'*  What  can  Heniy 
do  more  than  bind  himself  by  his  trotli  as  a  king  ?  A 
king  who  would  break  his  word  with  his  subjects  takes 
the  first  irretrievable  step  towards  his  own  abdication. 
For  his  own  sake  Henry  cannot,  dare  not,  deceive  you. 
Submit  then  in  the  manner  he  desires.  It  is  no  dis- 
honor to  you  to  do  so ;  for  you  have  fought  bravely 
against  him,  and  now  have  no  longer  power  to  resist 
him.  Besides,  you  should  recollect  that  every  day  you 
refuse  is  a  day  added  to  the  misfortunes  of  your  country, 
as  a  brutal  soldiery  waste  its  lands,  and  bring  unnum- 
bered woes  upon  its  poor  unoiFendiug  population." 


308         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

"It  is  not  that  we  fear  discredit  by  submitting  to 
King  Henry,"  replied  Otho,  '^  that  we  decline,  or  rather 
hesitate,  to  do  so.  It  is  because  we  know  him  to  be 
perfidious  that  we  fear  to  take  from  our  country  its  last 
hope  of  liberty,  by  placing  ourselves  in  his  power.  "VVe 
pine  for  peace,  not  for  our  own  sake  merely,  but  for  the 
sake  of  our  poor  countrymen,  on  whom  he  exercises,  by 
his  ^yorms'  body-guard,  his  Swabians,  and,  worse  than 
all,  his  Bohemians,  the  worst  of  cruelty." 

"  Then  what,"  asked  Godfrey,  "  can  be  done  to  satis- 
fy your  scruples,  and  to  remove  your  suspicions  ?  " 

"  First,"  answered  Otho,  "  that  we  have  you  to  pledge 
yourself  —  life,  body,  honor,  and  goods,  that  what  the 
king  promises  shall  be  literally  fulfilled ;  next,  that 
some  one  amongst  us  shall,  at  the  risk  of  his  own  life, 
accompany  you  to  the  king's  palace  at  Goslar  —  there 
have  a  personal  conference  —  and  candidly  tell  him  what 
our  accusations  are  against  him  as  a  king.  If  Henry 
will  patiently  listen  to  these  accusations,  and,  having 
heard  them,  permit  our  envoy  to  return  back  to  us  in 
safety,  then,  from  the  report  of  that  envoy,  to  decide 
our  course  —  it  is  most  probable  we  shall  determine, 
encouraged  by  such  a  test,  upon  placing  confidence  in 
his  promise,  and  submitting  to  him." 

"  What  you  now  propose,"  said  Godfrey,  "  is  per- 
fectly fair  and  reasonable ;  and,  in  the  king's  name,  I 
accede  to  it.     Who  shall  be  your  envoy  ?  " 

"  If  I  am  not  guilty  of  presumption  in  making  the 
offer,  I  shall  be  that  envoy,"  said  Dedi  the  younger, 
standing  up,  and  blushing  to  hear  the  sound  of  his  own 
voice  in  the  midst  of  his  superiors  and  elders.  "  I  know 
well,  from  my  venerated  father,  all  that  should  be  told 
to  the  king  of  his  past  conduct ;  and,  if  there  be  danger 


THE  ENVOY.  309 

in  the  task  I  undertake,  it  is  far  better  that  the  life  of 
one  so  worthless  as  myself  should  be  sacrificed  than  that 
of  any  I  see  around  me,  who  could  not  die  without  in- 
flicting a  severe  loss  upon  Saxony  —  nor  without  leaving, 
in  his  own  home,  a  widow  —  and,  perchance,  orphans." 

"  Thy  father  may  well  be  proud  of  such  a  son,"  re- 
marked Godfrey  ;  "  for  in  thee  I  perceive  the  becoming 
diffidence  of  a  youth  and  the  thoughtful  courage  of  a 
man.  If  my  wishes  have  any  weight  with  the  Saxon 
nobles,  then  thou  shalt  go  with  me  ;  for  I  would  prefer 
thee  as  a  companion  to  any  other  noble  they  could 
name." 

Duke  Otho  looked  to  the  elder  Dedi,  as  if  it  were  for 
him  alone  to  decide  whether  or  not  he  would  consent  to 
his  son  proceeding  on  an  enterprise  which  every  Saxon 
knew  to  be  pregnant  with  danger. 

To  this  silent  appeal  to  his  feelings  as  a  father,  and 
his  judgment  as  a  statesman,  the  Count  Dedi  made  no 
other  reply  than  by  clasping  his  son  in  his  arms,  and 
saying  : 

"  Brave  boy  !  it  shall  be  as  thou  wishest.  Go  —  re- 
rember  that,  from  this  moment  forth,  thou  dost  represent 
Saxony  and  all  its  wrongs,  as  well  as  all  its  rights.  Go 
—  and  may  heaven  protect  thee  !  " 

In  a  few  minutes  afterwards,  Godfrey  and  his  attend- 
ants were,  with  Dedi  the  younger,  on  their  road  to 
Goslar. 

As  the  shades  of  evening  descended  upon  the  earth, 
a  special  messenger,  sent  forward  by  Godfrey,  announced 
to  Henry  that  the  Duke  of  Lorraine,  with  Dedi  the 
younger,  were  approaching  to  Goslar,  to  settle  the  terms 
on  which  peace  might  be  concluded  with  the  Saxons. 

Henry  and  his  favorite  Werenher  were  alone  when 


310         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROE. 

this  messenger  arrived.  As  the  name  of  Dedi  the 
younger  was  pronounced,  Werenher  turned  pale  with 
anger  —  and,  the  moment  afterwards,  his  face  flushed 
with  joy,  as  a  diaboHcal  thought  entered  his  mind. 

"  Dedi  the  younger,"  said  he  to  the  king,  as  soon  as 
the  messenger  had  retired,  "  does  not  come  here  to  treat 
of  peace  ;  but,  covering  over  his  baseness  with  what  he 
conceives  to  be  the  safe  shield  of  an  envoy,  he  comes  to 
insult  your  Majesty  !  " 

"  To  insult  me  !  "  said  Henry,  his  proud  spirit  revolt- 
ing at  the  idea  of  any  man  presuming  to  speak  to  him 
but  as  to  a  superior  being.  "  Insiflt  me  !  He  dare 
not." 

"  He  dared  to  raise  his  sword  against  you  in  battle, 
when  death  impended  over  him.  Be  sure  he  will  not 
fear  to  wag  his  tongue  against  you,  when  he  can  do  so 
in  safety,"  replied  Werenher. 

"  In  safety !  "  said  Henry,  stamping  with  rage. 
"  Safety  for  one  who  assails  me  !  He  must  be  mad  to 
think  so.     He  shall  not  live  an  hour  afterwards  !  " 

"  But  your  Majesty  should  bear  in  mind,"  said  We- 
renher, "  that  he  comes  here  under  the  protection  of 
Godfrey.  He  comes  with  all  the  impunity  that  attaches 
to  the  character  of  one  who  discharges  the  duty  of  a 
herald,  an  ambassador,  or  an  envoy." 

"  Then  let  him  be  careful  he  does  not  abuse  the  im- 
punity that  belongs  to  his  office,"  remarked  Henry.  "  If 
he  does  so,  he  shall  not  leave  this  place  alive." 

"But  putting  him  to  death,"  replied  Werenher, 
"  would  be  the  proof  to  the  Saxons  that  they  could  not 
rely  upon  your  promises  of  impunity,  once  they  had 
submitted  to  you." 

Henry  paused.     He  looked  fixedly  at  Werenher  for  a 


THE  ENVOY.  311 

few  moments,  and  seeing  liis  favorite  smile  in  answer  to 
his  glances,  he  said  : 

"  Werenher,  you  have  devised  some  plan  which  you 
have  not  thought  fit  to  suggest  to  me.  Tell  me  plainly 
what  it  is.  How  know  you  that  Dedi  will  use  insulting 
language  towards  me  ?  " 

"  Because  Dedi,"  replied  "Werenher,  "  has  been  nur- 
tured in  rebellion  —  because  he  has  been  taught,  from 
his  childhood,  by  his  father  and  the  Countess  Adela,  to 
abhor  you ;  because  he,  therefore,  does  not  respect  you 
as  his  king,  and  hence  is  disposed  to  use  contumacious 
language  both  of  you  and  towards  you.  And  then  I 
know  that  the  Saxons  have  resolved  never  to  submit  to 
you  without  Avarning  you  of  your  past  misgovernment 
(for  such  they  call  it),  and  they  cannot,  nor  any  one 
who  represents  them,  convey  their  opinions  but  in  lan- 
guage that  must  inevitably  be  insulting  to  your  feelings. 
Hence  it  is  that  I  say  I  am  sure  Dedi  the  younger  comes 
here  to  insult  you.  If  I  be  wrong  in  my  judgment, 
and  my  apprehension  prove  unfounded,  then  let  your 
Majesty  not  remember  either  what  I  have  said  to  you, 
or  what,  in  connection  with  this  subject,  I  may  have  oc- 
casion to  say." 

"  But  wherefore,"  asked  Hemy,  "  if  what  you  say 
be  true,  warn  me  that  I  cannot  take  instant  vengeance 
upon  the  man  who  presumes  to  speak  to  me  in  any  other 
terms  than  those  which  a  subject  should  use  in  address- 
ing his  sovereign  ?  Why  tell  me  of  the  evil  conse- 
quences to  myself  of  shedding  his  blood,  as  if  I  were  a 
mere  citizen,  and  feared  that  I  should  be  ruined  by  the 
fredum  I  should  have  to  pay  to  the  state,  and  the  faidum 
to  his  family,  for  the  homicide  I  had  committed  ?  " 

Werenher  did  not  answer  these  questions  by  words. 


312  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

but  in  action.  He  drew  from  his  breast,  and  placed  on 
the  table  before  the  king,  a  thin  case  of  steel,  and  a  di- 
minutive round  box  which  had  formerly  belonged  to 
Anselra  of  Worms,  and  of  which  he  had  become  the 
possessor,  when  sailing  down  the  Maine  with  Lieman 
and  Egen. 

"  What  mean  you,  Werenher,  by  these  toys  ?  "  said 
Henry.  "  Do  they  afford  an  answer  to  my  questions, 
that  you  thus  display  them  ?  " 

"  They  do,"  replied  Werenher.  "  Within  this  case 
lies  a  dagger,  the  most  minute  punctui-e  from  which  is 
certain  death ;  and  within  this  box  a  poison,  impercepti- 
ble to  the  taste,  but  so  noxious  that  no  substance  can 
contain  it  but  crystal,  and  that  only  as  long  as  it  is  pre- 
vented from  being  exposed  to  the  air." 

"  These  are  marvellous  things,"  said  Henry ;  "  but 
yet  I  cannot  perceive  how  they  serve  to  solve  the  diffi- 
culty you  have  yourself  proposed." 

And  as  Hemy  said  this,  there  was  a  cold,  malignant 
smile  not  merely  on  his  lip,  but  in  his  eye,  which,  if 
Werenher  had  interpreted  aright,  would  probably  have 
induced  him  to  pause  in  the  conversation  he  had  thus 
commenced,  and  to  shrink  from  the  proposition  he  was 
about  to  make.  In  his  eagerness  to  shed  the  blood  of 
the  man  who  had  dishonored  him  by  a  blow,  and  pub- 
licly branded  him  as  a  coward,  he  did  not  perceive  the 
rigidity  of  countenance  with  which  Henry  listened  to 
him,  as  he  thus  proceeded : 

"  I  have  shown  to  your  INIajesty  these  two  sure  in- 
struments of  death,"  said  Werenher,  ''  because,  in  see- 
ing them  you  may  at  once  be  conscious  that  the  life  of 
Dedi  is  in  your  power,  and  that  you  are  free  to  take  it, 
whenever  you  please." 


THE   ENVOY.  313 

"  But  so  it  is,"  observed  Henry,  "  at  any  moment  he 
is  within  reach  of  my  sword.  Wherefore  am  I^  soldier, 
or  a  king,  if  I  am  not  free  to  take  the  Ufe  of  him  who 
avows  himself  my  mortal  foe  ?  " 

"  But  you  cannot  touch  him  if  he  be  under  your  pro- 
tection as  an  envoy,"  replied  "VVerenher.  *'  To  slay  him 
then,  would  be  to  dishonor  yourself." 

"Go  on,"  said  Henry,  —  "1  listen  to  you." 

"Without  noise  —  without  tumult  —  without  even 
appearing  to  be  conscious  of  the  manner  in  which  he 
has  met  his  death,  and  therefore  free  in  the  sight  of  the 
world  from  any  participation  in  it,  you  see,  in  these  mi- 
nute instruments,  the  certain  means  of  punishing  Dedi 
for  his  insolence,"  observed  Werenher.  "  Conscious 
that  he  only  breathes  by  your  permission,  you  can,  with 
an  assumed  patience,  listen  to  him.  To  do  so,  will  much 
promote  your  Majesty's  plan  for  getting  the  Saxon  no- 
bility and  prelacy  into  your  hands.  The  Duke  Godfrey 
will  be  a  witness  to  your  conversation.  He  will  thus 
be  able,  hereafter,  to  testify  that  neither  in  your  words, 
nor  your  demeanor,  did  you  manifest  the  slightest  en- 
mity against  the  younger  Dedi ;  and  that,  therefore,  if 
any  accident  should  befall  him,  you,  at  least,  must  be 
innocent.  Thus  acting,  your  Majesty  will  have  an  ene- 
my the  less,  and  your  policy  of  pretended  reconciliation 
with  the  Saxons  will  not  be  in  the  least  degree  marred. 
What  says  your  Majesty  to  my  proposal  ?  " 

"  I  say,"  replied  Henry,  "  that  it  is  a  very  safe  one 
—  it  is  very  prudent,  and  very  base." 

"  Very  base  !  "  repeated  Werenher,  somewhat  startled 
by  the  words  of  the  king,  and  still  more  so  by  his 
manner. 

((  Ay  —  Werenher  —  I  repeat  it,  very  base/'  observed 
27 


314  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

Henry ;  "  why  should  friends  mince  their  words,  when 
every  sentence  they  speak  may  affect  the  life  of  a  human 
being  ?  I  say  it  would  be  very  base  in  me,  who  am  a 
king,  if,  in  dealing  with  one  of  my  subjects,  and  desir- 
ing his  death,  I  should  strike  him,  not  with  the  sword, 
but,  like  a  cowardly  and  hired  assassin,  have  him  stabbed 
or  poisoned  in  the  dark.  The  evil  I  do,  I  am  ready  to 
avow,  and  to  abide  the  consequence.  I  may  be  hated  — 
I  am  sure  I  am  hated ;  but  I  never  shall  be  despised. 
No  —  no,  "Werenher,  in  giving  me  the  advice  you  have 
done  (and  a  portion  of  it  is  wise  counsel,  and  I  mean  to 
follow  it)  you  have  been  actuated  far  more  by  a  desire 
to  slay  Dedi  than  to  serve  me." 

"  I  assure  your  jNIajesty,"  said  "Werenher,  vehement- 
ly, and  giving  utterance  to  more  than  he  intended  to 
have  spoken  —  "I  declare  to  your  Majesty,  that  you  are 
mistaken.  I  have  no  especial  cause  for  disliking  Dedi 
—  except  that  he  is  known  to  be  your  Majesty's  avowed 
and  relentless  enemy." 

"  Indeed  !  "  cried  Henry,  in  a  tone  which  plainly  in- 
timated to  Werenher  that  his  assurance  was  not  credited. 

"  What  I  mean  to  say,"  continued  Werenher,  en- 
deavoring to  recover  from  the  mistake  into  which  he 
had  fallen  —  "  what  I  mean  to  say  is,  that  in  the  plan 
I  suggested,  I  was  not  thinking  of  my  own  personal  dis- 
like to  the  younger  Dedi,  but  of  serving  you " 

"  I  remember  what  you  have  said,  Werenher,  and  I 
desire  no  explanation,"  replied  Henry.  "  To  me,  it 
is  a  matter  of  indifference  whether  or  not  you  regard 
Dedi  as  your  personal  enemy.  All  I  say  to  you  is  this, 
I  will  have  nought  to  do  with  his  assassination.  I  will 
not  counsel  it  —  encourage,  nor  sanction  it.  At  the 
same  time  that  I  say  this,  I  wish  you  to  remember  that 


THE  ENVOY.  315 

there  is  no  reason  why  I  should  stir  hand,  foot,  eye,  or 
tongue,  to  save  Dedi  from  his  enemy.  He  is  my  foe, 
and  if  I  saw  him  walking  blindfold  and  direct  towards  a 
precipice,  where  I  knew  he  would  be  dashed  to  pieces, 
and  that  the  stirring  of  my  little  finger  would  save  him, 
I  would  not  move  it.  To  remain  quiescent  at  such  a 
fearful  moment,  is  a  far  different  thing  from  getting  be- 
hind his  back  at  the  time  that  I  professed  to  be  his 
protector,  and  pushing  him  down  the  deadly  abyss. 
You,  Werenher,  are  my  friend  —  he,  Dedi,  is  my  ene- 
my. I  will  not  interfere  with  my  friend  if  he  seeks  to 
revenge  himself  on  my  enemy." 

**■  I  think  I  understand  now  what  your  Majesty 
means,"  said  Werenher. 

"  Then  if  you  do,  add  no  explanations  of  your  own. 
"What  I  have  said,"  continued  Henry,  ''  may  be  summed 
up  in  a  few  words  —  that,  if  I  saw  you  and  the  younger 
Dedi  in  mortal  conflict  with  each  other,  I  would  wish 
success  to  you,  defeat,  disgrace,  and  death  to  him,  al- 
though I  would  not  interfere  to  help  you,  because  I  am 
forbidden  to  do  so  by  the  laws  that  regulate  single  com- 
bat. But  hark !  that  flourish  of  trumpets  announces  the 
arrival  of  Godfrey  and  the  Saxon  envoy.  Go,  command 
that  both  be  received  with  all  the  fitting  honors  due  to 
their  rank.  See  that  a  suitable  sleeping  chamber  be 
prepared  for  Dedi.  Do  that  before  you  return.  I  de- 
sire that  you  should  do  so  whilst  both  are  with  me. 
Hasten  then  away,  and  return  as  speedily  as  you  can." 

"  I  shall  do  all  as  your  ISIajesty  commands,"  replied 
"Werenher. 

"  And  here,  "Werenher,"  said  Henry,  "  take  these 
bawbles  with  you  —  your  tiny  dagger,  and  your  won- 
drous  poison.     But   no  —  keep   you   the   dagger,  and 


316         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEEOE. 

leave  me  the  poison.  I  wish  to  try  its  effects  on  a 
treacherous  hound,  that  this  day  made  a  snap  at  my 
hand  whilst  I  was  caressing  him.  Go  —  go  speedily ;  I 
can  hear  from  this  the  tramp  of  the  horses'  feet  as  they 
cross  the  draw-bridge." 

Werenher  quitted  the  room,  and,  as  he  did  so,  Henry 
opened  his  purse  and  slid  into  it  the  small  box  of 
poison. 

"It  is  dangerous,"  said  Henry,  *'to  have  about  one 
a  servant  who  handles  such  instruments  as  these.  A 
poisoner  is  a  very  unsafe  companion.  Had  I  known, 
honest  Werenher  !  you  approached  me  so  often  with 
your  tiny  dagger  and  crystal  drug,  I  would  have  iied 
from  you  as  from  a  serpent.  But  your  race  is  now 
nearly  run.  You  hate  Dedi  —  you  see  him  now  in  your 
power  —  the  foul  fiend,  revenge,  is  in  your  heart,  and 
you  will  do  his  bidding,  and  then  —  farewell  We- 
renher ! " 

"  I  have  the  honor,"  said  Duke  Godfrey,  entering  the 
apartment,  and  leading  Dedi  the  younger  by  the  hand, 
"  to  present  to  you  the  son  of  the  Count  of  Saxony,  who, 
on  this  occasion,  appears  before  your  Majesty  to  pray 
that  you  will  grant  to  him,  to  his  father,  to  Duke  Otho, 
to  the  Bishop  of  Halberstadt,  and  to  the  other  nobles  and 
prelates  of  Germany,  such  terms  as  they  may,  with 
honor,  submit  to  you,  and  renew  those  voavs  of  allegi- 
ance which  necessity  alone  has  compelled  them  to 
violate." 

"  I  repeat  to  your  Majesty,"  said  Dedi  the  younger, 
bending  down  and  kissing  the  knee  of  Henry,  who  stood 
erect  before  him,  leaning  upon  his  sword,  "  the  words 
of  Duke  Godfrey.  Such  is  the  object  with  which  I 
ajipear  before  you.     I  come  to  you  seeking  for  peace  — 


THE   EXYOY.  317 

I  come  to  you  asking  for  justice,  without  which  there 
never  can  be  peace." 

*'  And  I  receive  you  with  pleasure,"  said  Henry ;  "  to 
a  warrior,  the  sight  of  a  brave  man  is  always  welcome. 
I  have  seen  you  in  the  field  of  battle,  Dedi,  and  whilst  I 
admired  your  courage,  my  only  regret  was  that  you 
were  fighting,  not  for  me,  hut  against  me." 

"  Alas  !  my  liege,"  said  the  younger  Dedi,  "  it  was 
my  sorrow  that  it  should  be  so  ;  but,  when  I  was  girt 
with  the  belt  of  a  knight,  and  a  sword  was  placed  in 
my  hands,  I  was  bid  to  remember  that  I  was  to  fight  for 
my  God,  my  country,  and  my  king.  It  was  not  I  who 
separated  those  things  that  should  ever  be  inseparable." 

"  Then,  if  it  were  not  your  fault,"  observed  Henry, 
with  a  good-humored  smile,  "  it  must  have  been  mine. 
I  must  have  wronged  the  Saxons  —  let  me  know  what 
they  complain  of,  in  order  that  if  there  be  griefs  they 
may  be  redressed  ;  and,  if  my  actions  have  been  misin- 
terpreted, I  may  candidly  explain  them  to  two  brave  men, 
who  are  sure  not  to  put  a  false  gloss  upon  my  words." 

"  Then  I  hsve  your  Majesty's  permission  to  speak 
freely  the  sentiments,  and  to  give  plainly  expression  to 
the  complaints  of  the  Saxons,"  said  Dedi. 

"  Freely,  fully,  and  plainly,  I  give  you  that  per- 
mission. Say  what  you  think  —  say  what  the  Saxon 
nobility  speak.  I  free  you  from  all  responsibility  —  I 
do  so  in  the  presence  of  Duke  Godfrey,  and  I  do  so  in 
presence  of  another  witness  —  Count  Werenher,"  said 
Henry,  pointing  to  Werenher,  who  at  that  moment  was 
seen  entering  the  apartment. 

Dedi  started  back,  with  abhorrence  and  contempt 
marked  upon  his  face,  as  if  some  foul,  obscene  thing  had 
crossed  his  path. 

27* 


318  THE   POPE   AND   THE   ElIPEROR. 

"I  pray  your  Majesty's  pardon,"  he  said,  "but  in 
any  transaction  in  which  I  am  concerned,  I  cannot  meet 
Count  Werenher  as  a  witness,  a  compurgator,  or  a  man 
who  should  be  admitted  to  the  presence  of  a  knight,  or 
a  nobleman,  much  less  of  a  king.  I  have  twice  before 
encountered  Count  Werenher  —  first,  when  he  was  dis- 
charging the  loathsome  office  of  a  pander.  I  then 
arraigned  him  as  a  disgrace  to  manhood,  as  a  dishonor 
to  knighthood,  as  a  blot  upon  the  nobility  of  the  empire. 
I  then  struck  him  —  chastised  him  as  if  he  were  a  dog, 
and  though  we  stood  as  man  to  man  against  each  other, 
he  did  not  dare  to  resent  the  insults  offered  to  him,  but 
trembled  like  a  craven  before  me.  The  second  time  I 
met  Count  Werenher  he  was  armed  as  a  knight,  but 
acting  like  a  robber,  and  seeking,  with  felons,  his  asso- 
ciates, to  murder  and  despoil  a  bishop,  I  then  chal- 
lenged him  to  meet  me  sword  in  hand  —  I  branded  him 
as  a  coward,  and  he,  with  arms  in  his  hands,  fled  from 
me.  In  your  Majesty's  presence  I  will  inflict  upon  him 
no  personal  punishment;  but  I  will  not,  cannot  speak 
with  him  as  a  witness  to  my  language  ,*  for  I  feel  there 
is  infamy  in  breathing  the  same  air  with  him." 

Henry  looked  at  Werenher  whilst  Dedi  was  speaking, 
and  he  saw  that  his  favorite  minister  did  not  venture 
once,  even  for  an  instant,  to  meet  the  glance  of  his 
accuser ;  but  stood  like  a  trembling  culprit  before  him. 

"  The  coward  and  the  traitor  is  also  a  liar  and  an 
assassin,  who  would  make  me  a  participator  in  his  foul 
plot,"  muttered  Henry  to  himself;  then  turning  to 
Dedi,  he  said  aloud : 

"  Brave  warrior,  whatever  be  the  cause  of  quarrel 
between  you  and  the  Count  Werenher,  this  is  not  the 
time,    the   place,   nor   the    occasion   for    discussing   it. 


THE  ENVOY.  319 

Other  and  greater  interests  now  press  for  our  considera- 
tion. The  fate  of  an  entire  nation  —  the  happiness  and 
the  stability  of  an  empire,  are  depending  upon  our 
deliberations,  and  we  cannot  permit  them  to  be  post- 
poned for  the  purpose  of  settling  a  private  dispute  be- 
tween two  individuals,  however  highly  we  may  respect 
the  bravery  of  the  one,  or  value  the  many  services  ren- 
dered to  us  by  the  other.  You  object  to  Count  Weren- 
her  as  a  witness.  If  you  are  content  with  the  single 
testimony  of  Duke  Godfrey,  so  am  I.  I  yield  then  to 
your  objection,  without  pronouncing  any  opinion  upon 
its  validity.  Werenher,  withdraw.  You  see,"  said 
Henry,  whispering  to  the  confused  and  abashed  Weren- 
her, "  that  I  am  acting  upon  the  good  advice  you  gave 
me.  I  am  conducting  myself  with  great  courtesy  to- 
wards this  ruffian  Saxon." 

« I  see  —  I  see,  your  Majesty  is  most  wise,"  said 
Werenher,  as  he  tottered  out  of  the  room,  and  clinching 
in  his  right  hand  that  small  steel  case,  of  which,  and  its 
potency,  he  had  boasted  in  his  conversation  with  Henry. 
The  king  observed  this,  and  that  the  pallid  face  of  his 
favorite  was  corrugated  with  wrinkles,  and  that  his  eyes 
flashed  with  a  fire  that  seemed  to  be  a  reflection  of  the 
lurid  flames  of  hell, 

"  It  is  well  —  all  goes  on  as  I  had  hoped,"  thought 
Henry  to  himself,  with  inward  satisfaction.  "  I  have 
outwitted  that  skilful  politician.  He  Avill  do  for  me  my 
work,  whilst  he  fancies  he  is  only  -indulging  his  own 
passions."  He  turned  to  the  yomiger  Dcdi,  and  said: 
*'  Speak  as  I  have  said,  plainly.  Godfrey  shall  listen  to 
your  statements,  and  hear  my  reply  to  them." 

"  I  do  not  deem  it  necessary,"  said  Dedi  the  younger, 
**to  reopen  the  question  of  the  claim  made  by  your 


320  THE  POPE   AND   THE  EMPEROR. 

Majesty,  as  a  layman,  nor  by  the  Archbishop  of  Mayence, 
as  a  prelate,  to  exact  tithes  from  the  Saxons,  when  from 
neither  the  one  nor  the  other  is  there  given,  in  return, 
any  spiritual  services.  That  question,  I  say,  it  is  not 
necessary  to  reopen,  because  we  have  appealed  to  the 
Pope  on  the  Avhole  matter,  and  whatever  be  the  decision 
of  his  holiness,  we  are  prepared  to  abide  by  it.  We 
consider  it  as  a  question  that  affects  the  church,  and  we 
are  prepared  to  submit  to  the  decree  of  the  head  of  the 
church.  What  we  complain  of  now,  is,  that  your  Ma- 
jesty has  studded  over  the  soil  of  Saxony  with  strong 
fortresses ;  that,  in  the  erection  of  those  fortresses,  you 
have  compelled  not  merely  serfs  to  labor,  but  that  free- 
born  men  have  been  torn  from  the  midst  of  their  fami- 
lies, and  forced  to  toil  at  them  as  if  they  were  slaves ; 
that  those  fortresses,  when  erected,  are  gai-risoned  by  a 
hireling  soldiery,  who  compel  the  rustics  to  supply  them 
with  provisions,  and  who  treat  the  wives  and  daughters 
of  those  rustics  as  if  they  were  their  degraded  slaves ; 
and  we  complain  that  your  Majesty  has  been  induced  to 
treat  us,  Saxons,  in  this  manner,  because,  instead  of 
associating  with  the  princes  of  the  empire,  you  keep 
aloof  from  them  —  are  not  guided  by  their  counsel,  nor 
influenced  by  their  advice ;  but  that  you  have,  as  your 
companions,  men  of  mean  birth  and  of  depraved  habits  ; 
and  that,  raising  them  to  the  highest  dignities  in  the 
state,  you  delight  to  spend  with  them  your  days  and 
your  nights,  gratifying  the  worst  passions  with  which 
human  nature,  in  its  fall,  is  afflicted." 

"The  Saxon  nobility  and  the  Saxon  prelates  have 
desired  you  to  say  these  things  to  me  ? "  said  Henry,  in 
a  tone  of  voice  that  appeared  to  be  perfectly  calm  and 
unmoved. 


THE  ENVOY.  321 

"They  have,"  continued  Dedi.  "These  are  the 
complaints  they  constantly  make  respecting  your  con- 
duct. And  what  are  the  consequences  they  represent 
as  following  from  them  ?  These  :  that  the  empire  over 
which  you  rule  —  once  flourishing,  peaceful,  and  pros- 
perous— is  now  torn  and  divided  by  civil  war;  that  the 
soil  of  Germany  is  stained  with  the  blood  of  its  people  ; 
its  fields  desolated  with  fire;  its  cities  begrimed  with 
sin  ;  its  churches  dilapidated  ;  its  monasteries  destroyed; 
its  lands,  bestowed  originally  for  the  maintenance  of 
those  devoted  to  a  religious  life,  now  alienated,  and 
become  the  property  of  a  licentious  soldiery,  for  the  sus- 
tentation  of  their  vices  ;  that  widows,  that  orphans,  that 
the  poor  and  the  destitute  are  thus  reduced  to  a  state  of 
starvation ;  that  the  bonds  of  society  are  dissolved ;  and 
that  there  is  no  longer  any  respect  for  the  law  of  man, 
and  no  reverence  for  the  law  of  God." 

"  You  speak  eloquently,  if  not  correctly,  nor  truly," 
observed  the  king,  restraining,  with  great  diificulty,  any 
manifestations  of  the  passions  which  raged  in  his  breast. 
"  I  speak  without  exaggeration,"  said  Dedi ;  "  I 
speak  that  in  your  presence  which  every  tongue  repeats 
behind  your  back.  I  speak  it,  not  as  a  reproach  upon 
what  is  past,  but  as  a  warning  for  the  future.  I  speak 
it,  because,  if  you  reflect  upon  what  I  say,  it  will  show 
you,  that  without  a  change  in  the  conduct  you  yourself 
have  hitherto  pui'sued,  no  exterior  circumstance  can 
consolidate  your  power,  and  no  event,  however  fortunate, 
render  it  stable  and  secure.  Without  that  change,  no 
submission  on  the  part  of  the  Saxon  nobihty  can  give 
you  peace.  With  tliat  change,  you  can  become  the 
most  powerful,  because  the  most  justly-beloved  monarch 
in  Cluistendom.     We  hope  in  that  change,  because  we 


322  THE  POPE  AND   THE   EMPEROR. 

see,  that  in  seeking  to  grant  us  peace,  you  have  chosen 
as  your  adviser,  your  counsellor,  and  your  guide,  the 
illustrious  Godfrey  of  Lorraine  ;  a  man  who  has  won  the 
respect  of  his  enemies  by  his  bravery,  and  of  his  friends 
by  his  truthfulness  and  virtues.  Had  your  Majesty  sent 
to  us  any  other  man  than  Godfrey  as  an  ambassador,  we 
should  not  have  listened  to  him ;  for,  knowing  how 
many  perfidious  and  cruel  men  instil  their  evil  counsels 
into  your  ear,  we  should  have  preferred  dying,  sword  in 
hand,  in  battle,  rather  than  be  entrapped  into  a  false 
peace,  which  could  have  only  resulted  in  our  imprison- 
ment, our  exile,  or  our  death.  With  Godfrey  as  the 
guaranty  for  our  honorable  peace,  we  are  prepared  to 
yield  submission  to  your  Majesty.  I  have  now  dis- 
charged my  mission,  and  I  await  your  Majesty's  reply." 
"You  have  spoken,"  said  Henry,  "as  becomes  a 
knight  —  boldly.  Thanks  to  you,  I  know  the  worst 
that  can  be  said  of  me  —  and  that  is  said  of  me.  If  I 
be  guided  by  your  advice,  I  shall  amend  my  faults. 
And  now,  listen  to  me  with  the  same  patience  I  have 
given  to  your  discourse.  I  am  a  king,  you  and  the 
Saxons  are  my  subjects.  I  am  responsible  to  God,  and 
not  to  you,  for  my  conduct  as  king.  You  have  rebelled 
against  me,  and  as  rebels  I  have  punished  you :  but  I  do 
not  desire  your  entire  destruction ;  and,  therefore,  I 
am  willing  to  grant  you  peace  —  to  receive  you  under 
my  protection,  and  to  treat  you  as  the  father  treats  his 
child  that  has  erred,  but  that  he  pardons,  because  he 
loves  him.  The  flagrant  offence,  however,  of  which  you 
have  been  guilty,  requires  a  public  expiation  ;  and  that, 
for  the  sake  of  myself  and  of  my  successors  in  the  cm- 
jiire,  I  insist  upon  having.  Witliout  it,  I  will  have  no 
peace  with  you.     There  must  be  an  unmistakable  sub- 


THE  ENVOY.  323 

mission  made  to  me,  by  those  who  have  dared  to  take  up 
arms  against  me.  I  require  that  all  the  Saxon  nobility 
appear  in  presence  of  my  army  —  nobility  and  prelates 
both  shall  do  it  —  that  there  they  yield  themselves  abso- 
lutely up  to  me  as  prisoners.  Let  this  be  done  by  them, 
and  I  then  not  only  promise  —  but  I  am  now  prepared  to 
swear,  and  with  my  oath  the  Saxons  shall  have  the  oaths 
of  Duke  Godfrey  and  of  the  prelates  who  have  remained 
faithful  to  me  —  that  once  they  have  so  surrendered 
themselves  as  prisoners,  they  shall  suffer  no  loss  in  life, 
in  liberty,  in  property,  in  rank,  or  even  in  personal 
wealth;  but,  that  having,  by  their  pubhc  submission, 
given  satisfaction  to  the  king  they  have  offended,  and 
thus  tendered  the  best  reparation  in  their  power  to  the 
majesty  of  the  throne  they  have  outraged,  they  shall  be 
immediately  afterwards  set  at  liberty,  restored  to  their 
native  land,  to  freedom,  and  to  their  former  dignities. 
Such  are  the  terms  of  peace  I  tender  to  the  Saxon  no- 
bility and  Saxon  bishops,  in  presence  of  Duke  Godfrey. 
What  think  you  of  them  ?  " 

"  That  they  are  just,,  that  they  are  reasonable,  that  they 
are  fair,"  replied  Dedi ;  "  and,  that  in  the  name  of  the 
Duke  Otho  and  the  Bishop  of  Halberstadt,  and  all  the 
others  I  represent  on  this  occasion,  I  am  prepared  to  ac- 
cept them." 

"Thank  heaven !  "  said  Duke  Godfrey,  "  that  there  is 
now  a  certainty  of  peace  being  established  between  a 
sovereign  that  I  honor  and  a  race  of  men  whom  I  respect. 
I  am  most  happy  that  my  humble  efforts  have  contributed 
to  this  peace,  of  the  permanency  of  which  I  can  entertain 
no  doubt ;  for  its  full  accomplishment  depends  upon  your 
ISIajesty ;  and  your  Majesty's  patience  and  equanimity, 
whilst  this  young  soldier  detailed  the  complaints  and 


324  THE  POPE  AND   THE  EMPEROR. 

accusations  of  the  Saxons  against  yon,  convince  me  that 
many  of  those  complaints  are  unfounded,  and  most  of 
those  accusations  destitute  of  truth." 

"  And  I,  too,"  observed  Dedi  the  younger,  "  am  bound 
to  testify,  that  your  Majesty  has  conducted  yourself  to- 
wards me  with  a  magnanimity  which  I  was  not  prepared 
to  expect.  I  speak  what  I  feel,  when  I  say,  that  if  this 
were  the  last  hour  of  my  life,  I  would  willingly  part  with 
it  to  procure  peace  for  Saxony,  and  to  secure  to  your 
INIajesty  the  loyalty  of  a  brave  and  devoted  people.  And 
noM%  for  myself,  I  would  say,  that  I  pray  your  Majesty's 
pardon,  if,  in  the  address  which  I  delivered  to  you,  on 
the  part  of  my  associates,  I  said  any  thing  to  offend  you." 

"  I  have  no  pardon  to  pronounce,  for  I  have  no  offence 
to  forgive,"  replied  Henry.  "You  had  a  duty  to  per- 
form ;  you  have  faithfully  discharged  it ;  and  I  respect 
you  for  the  manner  in  which  you  have  acquitted  yourself. 
To  you,  Godfrey,  my  thanks  are  now  due.  Here,  then, 
our  conference  ends.  I  would  Avish  you  and  Duke  God- 
frey to  return  to  the  Saxons,  early  in  the  morning,  and 
arrange  with  them  the  day  on  which  the  public  submission 
will  be  made.  Duke  Godfrey  is  responsible  now  for  the 
fulfilment  of  the  conditions  on  my  part,  and  in  the  sense 
in  which  you  have  heard  me  express  them.  For  this 
night,  Dedi,  you  are  the  guest  of  Godfrey.  To  vou, 
Godfrey,  I  confide  the  care  of  the  Saxon  envoy.  Let  not, 
I  pray  you,  this  great  business  be  marred  by  any  personal 
conflict  between  your  guest  and  my  worthless  minister, 
AVerenher,  of  whose  baseness  I  never  was  apprised  until 
this  evening." 

"  I  thank  your  Majesty  for  the  warning  you  give," 
said  Godfrey.      "Be  assured  it  shall  be  attended  to." 

"  It  is,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned,"  remarked  Dedi, 


THE    ENVOY.  325 

*'  absolutely  unnecessary.  I  could  not  now  condescend 
to  cross  my  sword,  as  a  soldier,  with  Werenher.  As  soon 
as  this  peace  is  established,  I  mean  to  summon  him  before 
the  assembled  knights  of  Franconia,  so  that  he  may  be 
degraded,  and  his  spurs  chopped  off,  upon  a  dunghill,  by 
the  hatchet  of  a  hangman." 

"  It  is  a  wise  determination,"  said  Henry.  "  And  now 
betake  yourself  to  refreshment,  and  then  to  repose,  for  a 
long  journey  awaits  you.  To  you  and  Godfrey  I  bid 
farewell.     Good  night!  good  night,  my  friends," 

"  I  thank  your  Majesty  for  your  gracious  reception, 
and  for  that  kind  word,"  said  Dedi,  with  all  the  enthu- 
siastic, heartfelt  effusion  of  a  young  man. 

"  And  I,  too,  thank  your  Majesty  for  classing  us  both 
as  your  friends ;  and  I  hope  the  time  may  soon  come, 
that  friends  as  we  are,  we  may  have  the  power  to  prove 
we  are  your  devoted  subjects,"  observed  Godfrey,  as  he 
conducted  his  guest  from  the  king's  apartment. 

There  was  a  malicious  sneer  upon  the  ftice  of  the  king 
as  the  Lorraine  duke  and  Saxon  knight  disappeared. 

"  Du/pes/^  he  said.  "  Simpletons,  with  beards,  that 
are  as  easily  deceived  with  sweet  words  as  idle  children 
are  decoyed  by  sweetmeats.  But  I  have  to  protect  my 
life  against  worse  than  you." 

The  shrill  note  of  a  whistle,  blown  by  the  king,  brought 
Lieman  into  the  room. 

"  Lieman,"  said  Henry,  "  see  that  all  things  be  prepared 
in  the  Olympian  Palace  for  the  reception  of  a  new  guest. 
He  may  be  there  in  the  course  of  a  few  hours.  One 
hour  from  this  time,  and  I  shall  be  there  myself  to  see 
that  all  is  in  readiness." 

"And  may  I  ask  who  is  this  new  guest?"  asked  Lie- 
mau. 

28 


326         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

"  Of  course,"  answered  Henry,  "  for  it  will  be  your 
duty  to  conduct  him  tliither.     It  is  Werenher." 

"  AVerenlier,"  said  Lieman,  somewhat  surprised  ;  and 
then  he  murmured,  so  as  not  to  be  heard  by  the  king, 
*'  I  am  glad  of  it.  I  owe  him  a  grudge,  since  he  cheated 
Egen  and  myself  out  of  the  price  of  the  two  poisons  we 
found  on  Anslem." 


CHAPTEE    XXV. 

THE  KNIGHT  AND  THE  ASSASSIN. 

It  was  now  black  midnight,  and  in  the  darkest  corner 
of  a  dark  room,  and  concealed  behind  the  heavy  drapery 
that  covered  the  walls,  was  Count  Werenher ;  his  face 
pale  with  fear,  his  limbs  trembling  with  the  agitation  of 
contending  passions,  and  his  clammy,  shaking  hand  con- 
vulsively grasping  that  fatal  dagger  on  which  he  now 
placed  all  his  hope  of  avenging  the  many  wrongs  heaped 
upon  his  head  by  the  younger  Dedi..  He  watched,  as 
the  hunted  fox  watches  for  the  first  sound  that  may  in- 
dicate to  him  that  the  hunters  have  recovered  the  scent 
they  have  lost  —  he  watched  with  fear,  and  with  hope. 
In  the  craven,  cruel  heart  of  Werenher,  there  were  both 
fear  and  hope  —  fear,  even  of  the  man  he  Avas  resolved  to 
slay  —  hope,  that  he  might  commit  the  crime,  upon  the 
perpetration  of  which  he  had  determined  ;  and  that  he 
might  accomplish  it  so  stealthily  that  suspicion  should 
not  rest  upon  him. 

"The  hour  of  midnight  is  past,"  thus  soliloquized 


THE  KNIGHT  AND   THE   ASSASSIN.  327 

Werenher,  "  and  yet  he  comes  not.  I  thought  the  deed 
would  long  since  have  been  done  ;  and  I,  before  this  time, 
banqueting  with  the  king.  What  if  the  king  should 
call  for  me  !  No  matter,  he  may  fancy,  after  the  scene 
with  Dedi,  and  the  exposure  of  the  falsehood  I  told  him, 
that  I  have  quitted  the  palace ;  or,  he  may  guess  that  I 
am  at  this  moment  where  I  am,  concealed  in  the  sleeping 
room  of  Dedi,  and  resolved  upon  revenging  myself.  If 
it  were  not  so,  why  did  he  specially  charge  me  to  take 
with  me  this  dagger  ? 

"  But,  hist !  ay,  there  are  steps  approaching  —  he 
comes  —  he  comes. 

"  O,  this  coward  heart !  this  weak,  trembling  hand ! 
why  do  I  wish  for  revenge  if  I  have  not  the  power  to 
execute  it  ?  Wherefore  am  I  wicked,  if  I  am,  at  the 
same  time,  weak  ? 

"No  —  I  was  deceived.  The  wine-cup  still  detains 
him  and  Godfrey.  It  is  but  the  fancy  that  I  heard  his 
footstep  that  has  made  me  tremble.  In  what  state  then 
shall  I  be  when  he  is  bodily  present  before  me  ?  when 
we  are  alone  together  ?  Perchance  I  shall  then  faint  with 
terror,  and  be  discovered  by  him  —  dragged  by  the  heels 
out  of  his  room  —  spurned  by  his  foot  —  made  a  mockery 
of  by  the  king  and  his  courtiers,  and  even  the  beggars 
that  seek  for  alms  at  the  palace  gates  will  demise  me  for 
my  cowardice  !  Curses  —  ten  thousand  curses  on  his 
head  ;  there  is  no  indignity  which  he  will  not  delight  in 
subjecting  me  to.  If  I  am  imbecile  now  —  if  I  do  not 
now  take  his  life  —  he  will  never  cease  until  I  end  a  life 
of  disgrace  by  an  ignominious  death  upon  the  scaffold. 
He  has  been  born  for  no  other  purpose  but  to  prove  my 
ruin  —  and  now  I  have  to  choose  between  his  death  and 
my  own.     If  my  coward  hand  will  now,  felon  like,  betray 


328         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROK. 

me,  I  am  forever  destroyed.  Let  me  bear  that  in  miud, 
and  when  I  do  strike  —  strike  strongly,  steadily,  surely. 
Ha!  now  —  I  cannot  be  mistaken  —  footsteps  approach 
the  door.  Would  that  he  were  here !  Would  that  he 
were  dead !  Yes  —  I  tremble  no  longer.  The  decisive 
moment  is  fast  approaching.  I  am,  at  last,  as  I  should 
be  —  resolute,  eager  for  blood.     It  is  well  —  it  is  well." 

The  door  opened,  and  Godfrey,  bearing  a  lamp,  entered 
the  room,  followed  by  Dedi. 

'^  This,  my  friend,"  said  Godfrey,  "  is  the  room  assigned 
to  you  for  the  night.  I  have,  as  a  matter  of  precaution, 
stationed  two  soldiers  outside,  with  directions  to  enter, 
if  they  hear  the  slightest  noise  made." 

Werenher  trembled  when  he  heard  these  words,  but  the 
resolution  with  which  he  entered  the  room  was  not  shaken. 

"I  thank  you,"  answered  Dedi,  "for  those  marks  of 
your  kindness,  but  the  precaution  is  unnecessary.  My 
best  safeguards,  in  every  danger  hitherto,  have  been  God 
and  my  own  stout  s^V'Ord.  I  have  wronged  no  man,  and 
I  have,  therefore,  nothing  to  fear." 

"  That  you  have  done  wrong  to  no  man  I  can  well 
believe,"  said  Godfrey  ;  "  but,  wherefore  are  you  at  deadly 
feud  with  Werenher?  " 

"  I  at  feud  with  Werenher  !  "  observed  Dedi.  "  The 
lion  might  as  well  be  said  to  be  at  feud  with  the  treach- 
erous weasel — the  eagle  with  the  thieving  jackdaw.  I 
despise  him  too  much  to  dislike  him  ;  but,  whenever  he 
comes  in  my  way,  I  feel  it  necessary  to  tread  upon  him, 
as  I  would  upon  any  other  noxious  reptile.  It  shall  not 
be  my  fault,  if,  before  a  month  has  passed  away,  you  do 
not  sec  him  carrying  an  ass's  saddle  on  his  shouldei's,  and 
his  bare  back  scourged  by  slaves,  through  the  streets  of 
Goslar." 


THE    KNIGHT  AND    THE  ASSASSIN.  329 

If  it  were  not  for  the  fear  of  instant  death  being  in- 
flicted upon  him  by  Godfrey,  Werenher  would  have 
started  at  once  from  his  hiding-place,  and  plunged  his 
poisoned  dagger  into  the  heart  of  Dedi,  who  disarrayed 
himself  of  his  hauberk  as  he  spoke  these  words. 

"  But  Werenher  must  have  done  something  to  offend 
you  personally,  that  you  speak  thus  bitterly  against  him," 
observed  Godfrey. 

"  Personally,  nothing,  I  assure  you,"  answered  Dedi. 
"  I  loathe  him  as  I  loathe  the  serpent  —  I  hate  him  as  I 
hate  the  devil,  and  for  the  same  reasons  —  because  he  is 
a  base  wretch,  whose  heart  and  whose  soul  are  alike  lep- 
rous with  sin.  I  abhor  him,  and  I  am  determined  upon 
his  destruction  —  not  from  personal  enmity  to  him,, for  I 
feel  none  —  not  a  particle,  or  so  little,  that  if  he  were 
what  he  ought  to  be  —  a  beggar  —  to-morrow,  I  would 
bestow  upon  him  my  alms." 

Werenher  could  scarcely  restrain  the  panting  indig- 
nation with  which  he  heard  himself  thus  slightingly 
spoken  of. 

"  I  have  considered  it  right,"  answered  Dedi,  "  to 
degrade  him  wherever  I  could,  and  to  provoke  him  to  a 
personal  combat,  if  it  were  possible,  in  order  that  I  might 
rid  the  world,  and  especially  the  king's  court,  of  so  base, 
so  malevolent,  and  so  mischievous  a  villain.  Of  all  the 
bad  men  that  surround  the  king,  Werenher  is  the  worst. 
He  was  the  first  to  advise  the  king  to  seize  upon  the 
properties  belonging  to  the  monasteries  ;  to  encourage 
the  king  in  making  a  bargain  and  sale  of  mitres  and  ab- 
bacies ;  he,  too,  has  been  the  prime  instrument  in  exciting 
the  worst  passions  of  Henry,  and  in  encouraging  a  youth- 
ful monarch  to  plunge  into  an  abyss  of  vices.  I  am  told 
that  the  base  wretch  presumed  to  address  unholy  words 
58* 


330  THE  POPE   AND   THE   EMPEROE. 

to  the  saintly  Queen  Bertha,  and  that,  in  revenge  for  the 
rebuke  she  gave  him,  he  incited  her  husband  to  seek  for 
a  divorce ;  and  he  it  was,  who,  wearing  a  disguise,  was 
recognized  by  myself,  taking  part  in  the  abduction  of 
the  fairest  maid  in  Germany  —  the  lovely  Beatrice,  of 
AschafFenburg ;  he,  too,  it  was,  who  bore  her  away  from 
her  betrothed,  my  cousin  Magnus,  to  have  her  conveyed 
to  the  castle  of  the  king,  in  which  she  is  now  immured. 
These  are  my  reasons,  and  none  other,  for  seeking  the 
downfall  of  Werenher.  I  never  shall  rest  satisfied  until 
it  is  accomplished.  I  desire  it  from  no  unworthy  motive. 
I  wish  for  it,  not  because  I  have  a  personal  feeling  against 
"Werenher  as  a  man,  but  because  I  love  virtue,  hate  vice, 
andjietest  sinners." 

**  The  sentiments  you  express  do  you  honor,  Dedi," 
said  Godfrey.  "  And  now,  good  night ;  we  must  be  on 
horseback  at  an  early  hour  in  the  morning." 

"  Good  night,  my  friend,  and  God  bless  you  !  "  an- 
swered the  young  man,  as  he  lighted  Godfrey  to  the 
door,  where  the  attendants  of  the  latter  awaited  him. 

Dedi  returned,  and  replaced  the  lamp  upon  the  table. 
He  then  walked  up  and  down  the  room  for  two  or  three 
minutes,  as  if  indulging  in  meditation,  and  then  stop- 
ping before  the  table,  he  said,  or  rather  thought  — 

"  Enough  —  more  than  enough  of  my  time  has  been 
given  this  day  to  the  world.  Now  to  devote  a  few  min- 
utes to  heaven,  and  in  prayers  for  mercy  to  him,  who  is 
all-merciful;" 

So  communing  with  himself,  the  young  man  removed 
from  his  head  the  helmet,  the  nasale  of  which,  when 
turned  up,  and  resting  against  the  crest,  represented  a 
cross.  He  knelt  lowly  down,  and  gave  up  all  his  mind 
and  heart  to  devoticnal  thougkts  and  prayers.     As  he 


THE  KNIGHT  AND   THE   ASSASSIN.  331 

raised  lils  head  to  make  the  sign  of  the  cross  upon  him- 
self at  the  conclusion  of  his  prayers,  his  eye  rested  upon 
the  polished  sides  of  his  helmet,  and  in  one  of  them  he 
saw,  but  indistinctly,  the  distorted  white  face  of  a  man 
peeping  out  from  the  dark  curtains  behind  him. 

Dedi  started  at  once  to  his  feet,  placed  his  helmet  on 
his  head,  and  liis  shield  on  his  left  arm,  and  then,  un- 
sheathing his  sword,  said  —  not  in  a  loud  voice,  but  in 
one  that  could  be  distinctly  heard  in  all  parts  of  the 
room  — 

"  I  am  aware  that  at  this  moment  there  is  a  man  con- 
cealed in  this  apartment.  I  call  upon  that  man  now  to 
come  forth,  and  if  he  have  the  courage  to  do  so,  to  cross 
his  sword  with  mine.  If  he  refuse,  I  will  summon  the 
guard  that  watch  at  the  door,  and  with  our  swords'  points 
discover  the  part  of  the  room  in  which  he  lies  hidden. 
Instant  death  shall  then  be  inflicted  upon  him.  Who- 
ever the  skulking  villain  may  be,  I  say  to  him,  if  he 
have  the  slightest  hope  for  mercy,  come  forth  at  once, 
for  I  will  not  summon  him  a  second  time." 

As  Dedi  concluded  this  address,  he  perceived  the  dark 
curtains  drawn  slowly  back,  by  the  palsied  hands  of 
Werenher,  who  stood,  at  length,  fully  revealed  before 
him,  M'ith  his  arms  extended,  convulsively  grasping  the 
tapestry,  to  which  he  seemed  to  cling  for  support,  and  so 
overcome  by  terror,  that  he  seemed  to  be  deprived  of 
the  power  of  speech. 

Dedi  was  a  brave  man  —  he  would,  M-ithout  a  mo- 
ment's hesitation,  have  mounted  a  wall  on  which  he  saw 
hundreds  of  ballistas  pouring  forth  discharges  of  arrows, 
and  of  heavy  stones  —  alone,  he  would  have  unshrink- 
ingly stood  a  charge  of  a  troop  of  knights  —  unshrink- 
ingly he  would  have  seen  death  advancing  against  him 


332         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

in  a  field  of  battle  ;  but  now  —  alone  —  at  midnight  — 
in  his  bed-chamber  —  and  when  he  had  given  up  all 
his  thoughts  to  prayer,  to  find  that  a  foeman  had  been 
on  the  watch,  basely  to  slay  him  in  his  sleep,  produced 
a  thrill  —  not  of  terror,  but  of  horror  in  his  frame,  and 
a  sickening  sensation  came  over  him,  as  he  said,  in  a 
voice  that  trembled  with  emotion  : 

"  Werenher  !  here  !  and  at  such  a  time  as  this  !  " 

The  Count  Werenher  heard  these  words,  but  did  not 
answer  them.  He  was  not  capable  of  doing  so.  All 
his  faculties  seemed  to  be  absorbed  in  the  keenness  of 
his  perceptions,  and  the  nervousness  of  his  fears.  He 
felt,  in  its  full  extent,  the  horror  that  must  fill  the  soul 
of  Dedi  in  beholding  him  ;  and  he  knew  from  Dedi's 
voice,  that  he  comprehended,  precisely,  the  intention 
which  brought  him  to  that  chamber.  He  felt  all  this  ; 
but  'there  was  upon  him  an  incapacity  of  thought,  and 
impotency  of  words,  as  to  how  he  might  hope  to  evade 
the  vengeance  or  excite  the  commiseration  of  his  justly- 
exasperated  enemy. 

There  was  a  silence  of  some  moments,  as  those  two 
men  looked  upon  each  other.  In  the  stillness  of  the 
night  the  strong  breathing  of  both  might  be  heard. 

The  first  to  break  the  silence  was  Dedi  ;  because  that 
strange  sensation  that  possessed  him,  and  which  was  so 
like  fear,  was  over-mastered ;  whilst  each  moment  but 
added  to  the  terror  of  the  trembling  Werenher. 

"  Speak,  villain,"  said  Dedi,  "  speak,  or  I  will  stab  you 
where  you  stand.     Wherefore  are  you  here  at  this  hour  ? " 

Werenher  did  not  advance  a  step  from  the  spot  on 
which  he  stood  ;  but,  dropping  upon  both  his  knees,  and 
clasping  his  hands,  whilst  his  teeth  chattered  together, 
he  exclaimed,  in  a  voice  that  was  scarcely  audible  — 


THE  KNIGHT  AND  THE  ASSASSIN.  333 

"  Mercy  —  mercy  —  mercy !  " 

"  Mercy !  "  said  Dedi,  "  mercy  for  the  man  who  so 
thu'sts  for  my  blood  that  he  seeks  it  in  my  sleeping 
chamber  !     Wherefore  show  you  mercy  ?  " 

"For  your  own  sake  —  not  for  mine,"  replied  We- 
renher,  whose  confidence  returned  to  him  when  he  found 
that  Dedi  showed  no  disposition  to  put  him  instantly  to 
death. 

"  And  why  should  I  be  merciful  to  you  for  my  own 
sake,  when  you  come  here  to  show  me  none  ?  "  asked 
Dedi. 

"  Because,"  said  Werenher,  "  you  have  but  risen  from 
your  prayers  —  because  you  have  begged  that  your  tres- 
passes should  be  forgiven  to  yourself  as  you  forgive  to 
others  their  trespasses." 

"  It  is  true  —  it  is  true,"  answered  Dedi.  "  But  heark- 
en, villain.  Did  you  hear  the  conversation  that  passed 
so  lately  between  Godfrey  and  myself,  in  which  your 
odious  name  came  to  be  mentioned  {  " 

"  I  did,"  said  Werenher. 

"  Then  you  must  know,"  said  Dedi,  ''  that  I  have  no 
desire  that  you  should  be  dead,  but  that  the  king  may 
thus  be  prevented  from  following  your  pernicious  coun- 
sels. What  I  desire  more  than  your  death  is,  that  you 
may  be  driven  from  the  palace,  and  prevented  from  ever 
returning  to  it,  by  being  rendered  infamous.  At  this 
moment  your  life  is  in  my  hands,  and,  before  you  stir 
from  this  room,  I  am  determined  upon  taking  it,  unless 
you  comply  with  two  conditions  which  I  mean  to  impose 
upon  you.    Do  you  beg  for  your  life  on  these  conditions  ? " 

"  I  do,"  said  Werenher  ;  "  whatever  the  conditions 
may  be,  I  subscribe  to  them." 

"  Craven  —  odious  craven,  that  you  are,  it  sickens  me 


334         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEEOR. 

to  speak  with  you,"  said  Decli,  unable  to  restrain  his  in- 
dignation at  beholding  so  much  of  base  cowardice  under 
the  form  of  a  man.  "  The  first  condition  with  which  I 
require  a  strict  compliance  on  your  part,  is  a  candid  — 
mind  you  —  a  candid,  plain  avowal,  why  and  wherefore 
you  have  concealed  yourself  in  this  chamber  ?  " 

"  A  candid  answer  to  that  question,"  said  Werenher, 
sighing  deeply,  "  must,  I  feel,  consign  my  name  justly 
to  eternal  infamy,  whilst  it  disentitles  me  to  any  com- 
passion on  your  part.  You  have,  however,  named  it  as 
the  first  condition  on  which  you  spare  my  life,  and  I, 
therefore,  shall  fulfil  it.  Alas  !  Count  Dedi,  you  have, 
unsought  for,  and  unthought  of  by  me,  intruded  your- 
self upon  my  path.  I  never  thought  of  doing  you 
wrong,  and  you  have  wronged  me  grievously.  You 
have  not  acted  towards  me  as  a  brave  man  should  have 
done." 

"  How  !  "  answered  Dedi ;  "  have  I  not  twice  oifered 
you  battle  —  man  alone  opposed  to  man  —  and  have 
you  not  each  time,  like  a  timid  coward,  shrunk  from  it  ?  " 

"  You  have,"  replied  Werenher.  "  And  yet  it  was 
not  bravely  done  of  you  !  A  giant  challenges  a  dwarf 
to  combat,  and  when  the  latter  declines  it  charges  him 
with  cowardice !  A  single  combat  between  one  so  weak 
and  fragile  of  form  as  I  am,  with  one  so  strong  and  so 
accomplished  in  feats  of  arms  as  yourself,  would  be,  in 
effect,  but  my  unresisting  assassination  in  the  light  of 
day.  In  provoking  me  to  battle  you  were  well  aware 
you  exposed  yourself  to  no  danger  —  that  you  only 
sought  for  the  means  of  slaying  me.  It  was  not  then,  I 
repeat,  bravely  done  of  you  to  treat  me  so.  You  sought 
my  life  by  such  arms  as  you  could  use,  and  so  persist- 
ing, you  have  compelled  me  to  seek  your  life  by  such 


THE  KNIGHT  AND  THE  ASSASSIN.  335 

arms  as  I  can  alone  wield.  Driven  to  despair  by  your 
unceasing  persecution  of  me  —  exposed  this  night,  by 
you,  in  the  presence  of  the  king,  and  of  Duke  Godfrey 
—  by  being  denounced  as  a  wretch,  a  robber,  and  a  pol- 
troon, I  have  stolen  to  your  chamber  with  the  resolution 
of  slaying  you  here  as  you  slept.  If  then  I  kneel  be- 
fore you  an  assassin  in  intention,  though  not  in  fact,  be 
not  forgetful  I  should  not  be  in  this  degraded  position 
if  it  were  not  for  the  course  you  yourself  have  pursued 
towards  me." 

This  artful  speech  of  Werenher's  produced  the  effect 
for  which  it  had  been  delivered  upon  the  conscientious 
and  scrupulous  mind  of  Dedi.  It  excited  pity  for  the 
vile  and  trembling  villaiji  he  saw  prostrate  before  him. 
Dedi  reflected,  for  a  few  moments,  and  said  : 

"  And  so  you  intended  to  kill  me  when  I  slept !  " 

"  I  did,"  answered  Werenher. 

"  "With  that  dagger,  I  suppose,  I  see  in  your  girdle  ? " 
said  Dedi,  pointing  to  a  weapon,  whose  rich  enamelled 
hilt  attracted  his  eye. 

"  Perchance,  in  the  blindness  of  my  despair,  I  might 
have  had  recourse  to  this  dagger,"  replied  Werenher. 

*'  Draw  it  —  fling  it  behind  the  canopy,"  said  Dedi ; 
and  then  he  added,  when  he  perceived  how  readily  We- 
renher complied  with  his  command,  "  now  —  rise  from 
your  knees  —  advance  to  this  table  —  and  —  here  is 
parchment  —  write  these  words  according  to  my  dicta- 
tion :  — 

"  I,  Count  Werenher,  hereby  declare,  in  my  own 
handwriting,  that  ^was  discovered  at  midnight,  in  the 
chamber  of  Count  Dedi  the  younger,  where  I  had  con- 
cealed myself  with  the  intention  of  slaying  him  in  hiS 


336  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

sleep  ;  and  now,  for  the  sole  pui-pose  of  saving  my  life, 
I  avow  that  I  am,  from  this  time  forth,  to  be  ever  re- 
garded as  infamous." 

"  This,"  continued  Dedi,  "  is  the  second  condition  on 
which  I  am  willing  to  spare  your  life.  I  exact  it  from 
you,  for  the  purpose  of  driving  you  into  exile,  and  thus 
preserving  my  country  from  further  affliction  and  misery." 

"  Alas  !  "  exclaimed  "Werenher,  "  will  nothing  but 
my  utter  ruin  content  you  ?  " 

"  Miscreant,"  answered  Dedi,  "  would  less  than  my 
life  have  contented  you,  had  you  found  me  sleeping, 
helpless,  and  unprotected,  beneath  your  dagger  ?  Write, 
villain,  write  instantly,  as  I  ^have  dictated  —  or  die. 
Before  I  leave  Goslar,  to-morrow  morning,  a  herald  shall 
read  aloud,  in  every  cross-road,  that  declaration  which  I 
now  exact  from  you." 

Werenher  looked  at  the  young  man,  and  liis  com- 
pressed lips,  his  frowning  brow,  and  the  fierce  glance  in 
his  eye,  convinced  the  trembling  wretch  that  any  further 
hesitation  to  comply  with  the  command  given  to  him 
would  be  followed  by  the  instant  sacrifice  of  his  life. 

Werenher  seated  himself  at  the  table.  The  first  words 
he  attempted  to  write  were  rendered  almost  illegible,  by 
being  penned  in  a  trembling  hand  ;  but,  as  he  proceed- 
ed, his  nerves  seemed  to  steady  themselves,  and  the  last 
lines  he  wrote  were  a  beautiful  specimen  of  the  finest 
calligraphy  of  the  age. 

"  Now  attach  your  seal  to  that  brief  of  your  dishonor," 
said  Dedi. 

Werenher  complied  with  the  aider  so  imperiously 
given. 

"  Begone,  now,"  continued  Dedi,  flinging  liis  sword 


THE  KNIGHT  AND   THE  ASSASSIN.  337 

on  the  couch  on  which  he  intended  to  repose,  and,  as  he 
did  so,  turning  his  back  upon  Werenher.  "  Avaunt ! 
hide  yourself  from  the  scorn  of  your  fellow-men,  and 
repent  if  you " 

The  words  of  Dedi  were  interrupted  by  a  blow  from 
Werenher,  who  held,  all  this  time,  the  poisoned  dagger 
in  his  left  hand,  and  who,  the  moment  Dedi  turned  his 
back,  changed  it  instantly  to  the  right,  and  plunged  it, 
with  such  fearful  force,  between  both  the  shoulders,  that 
it  became  so  firmly  fastened  he  could  not  himself  again 
withdraw  it. 

At  the  same  moment,  "Werenher  snatched  the  parch- 
ment from  the  table,  and  endeavored  to  rush  out  of  the 
room,  but  Dedi,  though  wounded,  rushed  upon  him, 
caught  him,  and  grappling  him  by  the  throat,  ex- 
claimed : 

"Ho!  help!  help !  without  there  —  murder!  murder!" 

Before  the  assistance  he  cried  for  could  reach  him,  he 
had  fallen  to  the  earth,  dragging  down  Werenher  with 
him  in  his  fall,  and  holding  him  in  his  grasp,  despite  all 
the  desperate  efforts  of  the  assassin  to  escape. 

"  What  means  all  this  ?  "  said  Godfrey,  bursting,  with 
some  of  his  attendants,  into  the  room,  and  seeing  his 
friend  Dedi  writhing  with  agony  on  the  floor,  but  still 
holding  Werenher  in  an  iron  gripe. 

"  Take  the  parchment  from  the  villain  ;  it  will  tell 
you  all,"  answered  Dedi. 

One  of  the  soldiers  of  Godfrey,  perceiving  the  parch- 
ment in  the  hands  of  Werenher,  stamped  his  iron-soled 
sandal  down  upon  the  clinched  hand,  and  thus  bruising 
all  the  bones,  forced  it  from  the  grasp  of  the  wretched 
man,  who  lay,  henceforth,  without  a  struggle  in  the 
grasp  of  Dedi. 

29 


838  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

"  I  have  slain  him  in  vain,"  said  Werenher,  to  him- 
self. "  Fool  and  madman  that  he  was,  to  force  me  to 
•write  such  words.  But  for  them,  I  had  never  struck 
him.     He  has  brought  his  death  upon  himself" 

**  I  am  slain,  Godfrey,"  said  Dedi ;  "  and  you  will 
perceive  —  by  the  document  you  hold  in  your  hand  — 
slain  by  the  man  whose  life  I  spared,  when  I  discovered 
him  lying  in  wait  to  assail  me.  Let  no  blame  fall  on 
the  king  for  this  base  deed.  Say  to  my  father,  and  to 
the  nobles,  that  it  should  not  interrupt  the  arrangements 
which  you  and  I  had  so  happily  begun.  Kemember  my 
last  words  are  these  —  the  king  is  guiltless.  Godfrey  — 
farewell !  Commend  my  soul  to  the  prayers  of  the 
faithful.     O !  God  !  have  mercy  upon  me." 

The  lips  of  Dedi  still  moved  in  silent  prayer,  and 
then  he  rolled  upon  the  floor  in  agony  —  then  he  was 
observed  to  raise  his  eyes  in  prayer,  and  in  a  moment 
after  lay  a  moveless,  inanimate  corpse  at  the  feet  of  his 
trusty  friend  ! 

As  long  as  the  death-agony  of  Dedi  endured,  not  a 
word  was  spoken  in  the  chamber ;  but  when  the  hold 
which  the  young  man  had  taken  of  Werenher  was  seen 
to  relax,  two  of  the  soldiers  laid  hands  upon  the  assas- 
sin, and  binding  his  arras  behind  him,  thrust  him  back 
into  a  dark  corner  of  the  room,  so  that  the  sight  of  hira 
might  not  disturb  the  last  moments  of  his  victim. 

Godfrey  knelt  down  by  the  side  of  the  dead  body, 
and,  impressing  a  kiss  on  the  forehead,  cried  out,  in  a 
voice  that  was  choked  with  emotion  — 

"  Farewell !  Dedi !  Farewell,  most  valiant  and  most 
virtuous  of  the  brave  and  good  men  of  Saxony.  Fare- 
well !  victim  to  your  own  generosity.  May  your  happi- 
ness in  heaven   be  a  recompense    for   the   ingratitude 


THE  KNIGHT  AND   THE  ASSASSIN.  339 

"whicli  you  have  received  in  this  wicked  and  miserable 
world  ! 

"  Let  me,"  continued  Godfrey,  "  look  upon  the  vil- 
lain who  has  slain  this  man.  What ! "  he  cried,  for 
he  had  not  yet  examined  the  parchment  he  held  in  his 
hand  !     "  Are  you  the  assassin  of  Count  Dedi  ?  " 

"  I  will  answer  you  no  questions,"  said  Werenher, 
doggedly.  "  You  hold  not  the  office  of  a  graf  in  this 
district  —  you  exercise  no  judiciary  power  in  Goslar." 

"  No  —  but  I  am  a  soldier.  I  find  my  companion 
slain  by  my  side,  and  I  have  a  right  to  kill  his  mur- 
derer !  "  answered  Godfrey. 

"  Slay  me,  if  you  dare,  upon  suspicion,  in  the  king's 
palace,  and  when  the  king  is  near  to  administer  justice 
in  person,"  was  the  reply  of  Werenher. 

"  Cunning,  as  if  you  were  one  of  the  scabini,  in  the 
quirks  of  the  law,"  remarked  Godfrey,  pointing  to  the 
document  which  he  now  read,  — "  here  is  that  which 
condemns  you." 

"  It  does  no  such  thing,"  readily  answered  Werenher. 
*'It  only  proves  that  I  was  found  in  the  chamber  of 
Dedi,  with  a  certain  intention  —  it  does  not  prove  that  I 
fulfilled  that  intention  ;  and  Dedi  never,  in  dying,  men- 
tioned my  name." 

"  But  he  described  you,  though  he  did  not  name 
you,"  said  Godfrey,  somewhat  confounded  by  this  au- 
dacious denial  of  facts  of  which  he  was  himself  a  witness. 

"  That  is  your  inference,"  replied  Werenher ;  "  but 
it  is  one  in  which  the  laiidgcrichte  may  difier  from  you, 
and  even  discover  my  innocence,  where  you  fancy  you 
have  found  a  proof  of  my  guilt.  I  claim  my  right,  as 
a  count  of  the  empire,  to  be  tried  by  my  peers.  I  ap- 
peal to  the  king  for  justice." 


340         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEEOR. 

"  Be  it  SO,"  said  Godfrey.  "  Here,  friends,  examine 
the  body  of  tlie  gallant  Dedi,  in  order  that  we  may  dis- 
cover how  his  death  has  been  caused." 

In  a  few  moments  afterwards  the  small  dagger  was 
wrenched,  by  main  force,  from  the  back  of  Dedi,  and 
placed  in  the  hands  of  Godfrey.  The  latter  examined 
it  with  curiosity,  and  then  looked  to  the  wound  it  had 
inflicted.  He  perceived  that,  though  the  puncture  made 
in  the  flesh  was  so  small  as  to  be  scarcely  perceptible, 
still,  a  wide  circle  around  was  one  mass  of  fiery  inflam- 
mation ;  and  even  though  so  few  minutes  had  occurred 
since  life  had  been  extinct,  there  were,  amid  that  red- 
ness, dark  spots,  as  if  decomposition  had  already  taken 
place. 

"  O,  villain,  villain !  "  he  exclaimed,  '^  this  is  a  poi- 
soned weapon.  You  ask  for  justice  —  you  shall  have 
it ;  for,  if  this  crime  be  not  punished  with  your  death, 
then,  be  assured,  better  lives,  and  greater  men  than  you 
shall  be  responsible  for  so  foul  a  deed.  You  appeal  to 
the  king  as  if  you  were  sure  of  a  pardon.  He  cannot 
grant  it,  unless  to  declare  himself  your  participator ;  and 
even  if  he  Avere  to  grant  it,  you  should  not  escape  my 
vengeance." 

"  An  innocent  man  and  a  prisoner,"  said  Werenher, 
*'  must  bear,  with  patience,  the  angry  reproaches  of  his 
armed  and  angry  prosecutor.  I  say  again,  that,  with  you, 
I  will  not  discuss  the  question  of  my  innocence  or  my 
guilt.  Let  me  be  conducted  to  the  presence  of  the  king, 
for  he  is  a  just,  a  generous,  and  a  gracious  sovereign." 

"■  Be  it  as  you  wish,"  answered  Godfrey.  "  Friends, 
hold  that  assassin  fast.  Bring  him  to  the  apartments  of 
the  king.  I  will  precede  him,  by  a  few  moments,  so 
that  his  majesty  may  know  how  dire  a  deed  has,  this 


THE  FATE  OF  THE  FAVORITE.  341 

night,  brought  disgrace  and  dishonor  upon  the  abode  in 
which  he  dwells.     To  the  king !  " 

Godfrey  hastened  from  the  apartment,  bearing  with 
him  the  poisoned  dagger  and  the  written  confession  of 
Werenher. 

Werenher,  in  being  led  from  the  apartment,  had  to 
pass  close  by  the  body  of  his  victim,  Avhich  still  lay 
stretched  upon  the  floor.  He  looked  down  upon  it,  and 
an  icy  shudder  ran  through  his  frame. 

"  Miserable,  mad  youth,"  he  thought,  "  it  was  not 
without  cause  I  trembled  when  I  first  heard  your  name. 
In  seeking,  needlessly,  for  my  destruction,  you  have 
brought  it  upon  yourself.  I  feared  it  would  be  other- 
wise. You  now  lie  dead  and  unavenged,  and  I  fly  for 
refuge  to  a  king  who  loves  me.  This  is  as  it  should, 
be!" 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

THE  FATE   OF  THE  FAVORITE. 

"  These  are  sad  and  dreadful  tidings  that  you  con- 
vey to  me,"  said  Henry,  to  Duke  Godfrey  of  Lorraine. 
"  This  document,  in  the  handwriting  of  Werenher  — 
the  circumstances  which  you  yourself  witnessed  —  the 
dying  declaration  of  the  brave  Dedi  —  his  generous  ref- 
erence to  myself — are  all  facts  which  leave  not  the 
slightest  doubt  upon  my  mind  that  Werenher  is  the  base 
wretch  who  planted  this  poisoned  dagger  in  the  back  of 
the  gallant  soldier  ;  and,  being  so  convinced  as  to  the  flicts, 
I  am  anxious  to  avenge  his  death,  speedily  and  sharply." 
29* 


342  THE  POPE   AND   THE  EMPEROR. 

"  And  capitally.  Blood  demands  blood,"  observed 
Godfrey. 

"  I  am  resolved  that  Werenher  shall  die,"  said  Henry. 

"  But  let  it  be  at  once,"  continued  Godfrey ;  "  for, 
if  not,  strange  rumors  will  get  abroad,  and  men  will 
say  you  participated  in  his  crime  ;  because,  when  ar- 
rested, he  appealed  with  as  much  confidence  to  you  as 
if  he  was  certain  of  iinpunity.  I  say  this  for  the  sake 
of  your  Majesty's  fame  —  and  for  the  sake  of  bringing 
to  an  honorable  conclusion  that  negotiation  in  which  the 
murdered  man  and  I  were  engaged." 

"  I  feel  obliged  to  you,"  said  Henry,  "  both  for  your 
candor  and  your  prudent  advice.  The  best  proof  that  I 
can  give  you  how  much  I  appreciate  your  wisdom  is,  by 
declaring  to  you,  that,  with  the  exception  of  subjecting 
Werenher  to  a  public  trial  and  execution,  because  such 
would  delay  his  punishment  too  long,  I  shall  do,  or  cause 
to  have  done,  as  regards  his  death,  whatever  you  may 
suggest." 

"  Then  let  me,"  replied  Godfrey,  "  bring  back  to 
Saxony,  at  the  same  time,  the  dead  body  of  Dedi  the 
younger,  with  this  parchment,  the  poisoned  dagger,  and 
the  head  of  the  assassin." 

"  It  shall  be  as  you  say,"  replied  Plenry.  '^  I  leave 
to  you  the  care  of  the  body  of  the  dead.  I  wish  to 
have  bestowed  upon  the  remains  the  same  honors  that 
would  be  shown  to  those  of  a  duke  of  the  empire.  In 
all  that  pertains  to  the  execution  of  justice  leave  the 
task  to  me.  Be  assured  it  shall  be  done  speedily.  The 
hour  of  matins  has  passed,  and,  before  the  prayers  of  the 
prime  are  completed,  Werenher  shall  be  no  longer  a  liv- 
ing man.     Are  you  content  ?  " 


THE  SURRENDER.  343 

CHAPTER   XXVII. 

THE   SURRENDER. 

The  decapitation  of  Werenher ;  the  proof,  thus  af- 
forded, that  Henry  was  sincere  in  the  promises  he  made 
of  pardon,  and  of  restoration  to  all  their  rights,  privi- 
leges, and  dignities  of  the  Saxon  nobles,  who  should 
place  themselves  within  his  power,  by  a  public  submis- 
sion, tended  to  fxcilitate  that  negotiation  in  which  God- 
frey had  been  engaged. 

The  terms,  such  as  they  had  been  agreed  upon  by  the 
Duke  of  Lorraine  on  the  part  of  Henry,  and  of  Dedi 
the  younger  on  behalf  of  the  Saxons,  were  fully  ratified 
by  the  latter. 

"  I  will  not,"  said  the  father  of  the  slain  warrior, 
*'  protest  against  an  act  which  meets  with  the  approval, 
and  has  obtained  the  sanction,  of  my  superiors  and  my 
associates.  I  content  myself  with  saying,  that  I  am  not 
a  participator  in  it.  I  cannot  confide  in  the  faith  of 
King  Henry,  and  I  will  not  seek  for  his  clemency. 
Heaven  grant  that  none  of  you  may  be  deceived  in 
either.  I  shall  withdraw  myself  from  Saxony,  and  re- 
pair to  Rome,  there  to  pray  for  your  happiness,  if  you 
are  permitted  to  enjoy  the  peace  that  is  promised  ;  and 
there,  if  it  be  necessaiy,  to  interfere  on  your  behalf  — 
to  place  the  pontiff  in  possession  of  all  the  facts  that 
have  occurred,  and  to  beseech  his  holiness  so  to  act,  as 
that  justice  may  be  done  to  you,  to  the  people,  and  to 
Saxony.  Here,"  continued  the  brave  old  man,  "  I  part 
from  you  ;  but  I  leave  with  you  those  that  are  most  dear 
to  me  —  my  beloved  wife,  Adela  —  my  younger  son. 


344  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEEOB. 

and,  what  is  still  more  precious,  the  corpse  of  him  that 
I  fondly  hoped  would  yet,  with  a  warrior's  hand,  have 
consigned  me  to  a  warrior's  grave." 

There  were  tears  in  the  eyes  of  many  brave  men,  and 
sad  forebodings  in  the  hearts  of  many  good  men,  as 
Count  Dedi  departed  from  the  encampment  of  the  Sax- 
ons ;  and  the  nobles  who  remained,  prepared  to  repair 
to  the  place  appointed  for  them  to  make  a  public  sub- 
mission to  King  Henry. 

There  was  sadness  in  the  camp  of  the  Saxons.  But 
it  was  far  otherwise  with  the  troops  collected  under  the 
royal  standard  of  Henry,  once  the  intelligence  spread 
amongst  them  that  the  Saxons  were  about  to  surrender 
to  the  king.  Nought  then  was  to  be  heard  but  shouts 
of  joy  and  cheers  of  exultation.  This,  they  regarded  a 
triumph  greater  than  any  battle  could  have  given  to 
them ;  for  it  was  won  without  wounds,  and  purchased 
by  no  loss  of  life.  It  was  a  victory  of  which  they  con- 
sidered they  had  much  more  reason  to  be  proud  than 
that  gained  by  them  on  the  banks  of  the  Unstrutt,  be- 
cause the  Saxons,  though  defeated  there,  had  destroyed 
the  best  and  bravest  of  their  Swabian  cavalry  and  Bava- 
rian knighthood. 

A  negotiation  so  concluded,  exalted  Henry  as  a  states- 
man, and  made  him  revered  by  his  soldiers,  as  a  king 
who  was  sparing  the  lives  of  his  subjects,  and  who  in- 
finitely preferred  their  safety  to  his  own  military  fame. 

The  proudest  day  —  it  might  also  have  been  the  most 
glorious  —  in  the  entire  life  of  Henry  the  Fourth,  was 
that  on  which  he  —  high  and  exalted  above  his  fellow- 
men  —  wearing  his  royal  crown  and  Dalmatic  robes,  sat 
upon  a  lofty  throne,  in  the  broad  plain  at  Spira,  between 
Kindebriick  and  Greussen,  and  that  his  entire  army  was 


THE  SURRENDER.  345 

drawn  out  in  opposite  lines,  facing  each  other,  and  sepa- 
rated by  so  wide  a  space,  as  to  admit  the  whole  of  the 
Saxon  leaders  —  nobles,  prelates,  landsmen,  knights,  and 
warriors,  to  pass  between  them.  And  those  Saxons  were 
seen  advancing,  rank  after  rank  ;  the  bishops  in  their  mi- 
tres and  pontifical  robes,  the  nobles  and  other  laymen  in 
the  panoply  of  war  ;  and,  as  they  came  to  the  foot  of 
the  throne,  knelt  slowly  down  before  their  offended  sov- 
ereign, and  thus  testified  to  him  and  to  the  world  that 
they  acknowledged  him  as  their  superior  lord,  and  then 
passed  onward,  to  be  received  into  the  several  tents,  pre- 
viously prepared  for  their  reception. 

Had  Henry  been  a  humble  man,  this  was  a  sight  to 
make  him  proud,  for  here  were  those  he  regarded  as  his 
most  bitter  foes,  obliged  to  bow  down  before  his  footstool. 
Here  were  his  foes,  the  Princes  of  Saxony  and  Thurin- 
gia,  at  his  feet,  and  scornfully  did  his  eye  glare  upon 
them  as  he  recognized  each  —  Wezel,  the  Archbishop 
of  Magdeboui-g  ;  Bucco,  Bishop  of  Halberstadt ;  Otho, 
the  quondam  Duke  of  Bavaria  ;  Herimann,  the  relative 
of  Magnus  ;  Frederick,  the  Count  Palatine,  with  Adel- 
bert,  Rudiger,  Sizzo,  Berenger,  Bem,  and  other  Counts 
of  Thuringia  ;  whilst  there  was  a  careless,  almost  vacant, 
look  of  contempt  as  those  of  minor  rank  followed  them, 
as  if  he  would  not  condescend  to  regard  such  inferior 
persons  worthy  of  his  resentment,  as  his  foes,  nor  of  re- 
spect, as  his  subjects. 

Henry  was  naturally  proud,  and  this  was  a  sight  suf- 
ficient almost  to  make  him  forget  that  he  was  a  man  ;  for 
here  he  now  sat  enthroned  the  supreme  monarch  of  Ger- 
many, at  the  head  of  a  gallant  and  a  devoted  army,  and 
the  most  dangerous  foes  that  he  had  ever  encountered 
were  forced  to  bend  their  knee  to  him,  and  worship  him. 


846  THE  POPE   AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

as  if  he  were  invested  with  the  attributes  of  the  Deity ; 
for,  once  they  had  so  submitted  to  him,  their  hves,  their 
liberties,  and  their  properties  were  dependent  upon  his 
word,  and  might  be  disposed  of  according  to  his  caprice. 
Had  there  been  one  spark  of  generosity  in  the  heart  of 
Henry,  here  was  an  occasion  on  which  he  might  have 
manifested  it.  Here  he  might  have  added  dignity  to  his 
power,  and  conferred  a  fresh  lustre  upon  his  crown,  by 
proving  himself  worthy  of  the  triumph  he  enjoyed  in 
the  compassion  he  exhibited  for  the  fallen  condition  of 
his  foes. 

No  such  kindly,  no  such  generous,  no  such  chivalric 
sentiment  found  a  resting-place  in  the  breast  of  Henry. 
There  was  no  pity  for  his  prostrate  enemies.  Coldly^ 
silently,  frowningly,  he  saw  bishop  and  noble,  landsman 
and  knight,  soldier  and  freeman,  bowing  down  to  the 
earth.  He  looked  at  them,  not  like  a  king  upon  his 
subjects,  but  as  an  executioner  upon  his  victims. 

Duke  Godfrey  Avas  a  witness  to  this  scene,  and  the 
ominous  silence,  the  cold  reserve,  and  the  ungenerous 
bearing  of  Henry  chilled  his  heart.  The  submission  of 
the  Saxons  had  been  received  in  a  manner  so  different 
from  what  he  had  calculated  upon,  the  demeanor  of 
Henry  was  so  contrary  to  what  he  felt  his  own  would  have 
been,  if  similarly  situated,  that  he  could  not  refrain  from 
saying,  as  he  saw  the  Saxons  conducted  into  different 
tents : 

"  I  trust  your  Majesty  feels  perfectly  satisfied  with 
the  manner  in  which  the  Saxons  have  fulfilled  the  con- 
ditions you  imposed  upon  them." 

"  I  am  not,"  repHed  Henry.  ''I  do  not  see  the  flither 
of  Dedi  here,  and  I  miss  hundreds  of  other  rebels  of 
minor  rank." 


THE  SUERENDER.  347 

"The  old  Count  of  Saxony,  Dedi,"  said  Godfrey, 
**  does  not  seek  your  Majesty's  pardon,  and  therefore  he 
is  not  here.  He  has  withdrawn  from  Germany  altogeth- 
er, and  repaired  to  Rome." 

"  Then  he  has  escaped  my  vengeance,"  said  Henry. 

"  Your  vengeance  ! "  said  Godfrey,  surprised.  "  Why, 
if  he  had  been  here  it  must  have  been  only  to  obtain 
your  forgiveness." 

"  Ay !  such  forgiveness  and  such  pardon  as  he  mer- 
its —  such  pardon  as  I  have  bestowed  upon  those  villains 
who  have  publicly  avowed  themselves  to  be  rebels. 
Look  there  !  " 

As  Henry  spoke  these  words,  he  pointed  to  the  bish- 
ops and  nobles  of  Saxony,  who  were  now  seen  issuing 
from  the  tents,  their  hands  laden  with  chains,  and  each 
followed  by  two  soldiers,  with  drawn  swords. 

"  O,  heavens  !  "  exclaimed  Godfrey.  "  This  surely  is 
but  done  by  you  in  mockery.  You  certainly  do  not  mean 
thus  to  treat  and  retain  them  as  prisoners." 

"  The  time  for  concealing  my  thoughts,  and  disguising 
my  intentions,  Duke  Godfrey,"  answered  Henry,  with 
haughtiness,  "  is  now  passed.  I  am  now  omnipotent  in 
Germany,  and  there  is  no  monarch  in  all  Christendom 
strong  enough  to  contend  against  me.  Perchance  you, 
like  the  old  dotard  Dedi,  may  fancy  that  I  stand  in  fear 
of  excommunication  from  the  Pope.  Let  me  but  hear 
that  one  of  my  subjects  presumes  to  appeal  to  Pome,  and 
that  instant  I  shall  have  him  executed  as  a  traitor.  If  I 
find  it  but  whispered  that  the  Pope  intends  to  wag  his 
little  finger  against  me,  I  shall  have  him  seized,  though 
it  were  at  the  altar,  and  dragged  a  prisoner  to  my  palace 
to  act  as  one  of  my  menials.  I  have  put  down  rebellion, 
not  to  reward  traitors,  but  to  punish  them  —  mildly  pun- 


348  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

ish  them  ;  for  I  will  not  kill  them,  as  they  have  confided 
to  my  clemency.  I  will  merely  send  them  into  banish- 
ment. There  is  not  one  of  those  chained  traitors  you 
now  behold,  that  in  twenty-four  hours  from  this  time 
shall  not  be  on  the  road  to  his  prison,  whether  it  be  in 
Swabia,  Bavaria,  Burgundy,  Italy,  or  Bohemia." 

"  I  know,  and  most  readily  do  I  acknowledge,"  said 
Godfrey,  "  that  the  power  possessed  by  your  Majesty  at 
this  moment,  makes  you,  as  far  as  mortal  can  be  on  this 
earth,  omnipotent.  It  is  because  I  feel  that  you  are  so, 
that  I  now  kneel  to  your  Majesty  to  do  that,  which  I 
never  have  done  before,  and  never  thought  I  ever  should 
have  to  do  —  to  beg  from  you  a  favor." 

And,  as  Godfrey  spoke  these  words,  he  cast  himself 
on  his  knees  before  the  throne  of  Henry. 

Henry  smiled  to  see  the  proud,  gallant  Duke  of  Lor- 
raine thus  bowing  down  to  worship  him,  like  the  mean- 
est and  most  subservient  of  his  courtiers. 

"Rise,  Godfrey,"  he  graciously  said.  "  It  is  not  fit- 
ting that  you  should  thus  bow  down  to  me.  Demand 
what  favor  you  will.  There  are  but  few  things  I  can 
refuse  to  you,  for  you  have  served  me  iiiithfully  in  the 
field  and  at  the  council  board." 

"  I  have  no  favor  to  ask  for  myself,"  answered  God- 
frey, whose  self-pride  was  hurt  to  find  that  his  action 
could  have  been  misinterpreted.  "  I  have  inherited 
enough  of  the  world's  wealth  not  to  crave  for  more :  I 
cannot  be  raised  higher  in  rank  than  I  am,  and  for  my 
fame  I  am  indebted  to  myself.  It  depends  neither  on  a 
monarch's  smile,  nor  on  the  plaudits  of  a  mob.  The 
favor  I  seek  for,  if  it  be  conceded,  is  one  that  will  tend 
to  your  Majesty's  welfare.  I  ask  it  much  more  for 
your  sake  than  for  my  own." 


THE  SURRENDEE.  319 

"For  my  sake!"  repeated  Plenry,  proudly.  "You 
choose  to  speak  in  riddles,  Duke  of  Lorraine.  How  can 
my  welfare  be  contingent  upon  the  concession  to  you  of 
what  you  designate  to  be  a  flivor  ?  " 

"  Because,"  answered  Godfrey,  "  in  it  are  involved 
your  Majesty's  conduct  now,  your  present  peace,  your 
future  glory,  and  the  ultimate  permanency  of  your  em- 
pire." 

"  I  pray  of  you  to  speak  plainly,"  said  Henry,  "  for  I 
cannot  comprehend  your  warning  without  a  candid  ex- 
planation." 

"  Your  Majesty  forces  me  to  speak  plainly,"  continued 
Godfrey,  "  although  I  doubt  not,  whilst  you  look  upon 
those  noble  Saxons,  now  in  chains,  you  cannot  be  forget- 
ful that  they  never  would,  or  could  be  so,  if  I  had  not 
had  your  Majesty's  promise  —  nay,  even  oath,  given  in  the 
presence  of  the  young  Dedi,  that  no  such  circumstance 
as  this  was  to  occur.  Nay,  I  am  compelled^  to  remind 
your  IMajesty,  that  it  was  in  reliance  upon  what  you  said 
to  me,  that  I  pledged  to  them  my  oath,  that,  having 
gone  through  the  ceremony  of  a  full  submission,  they 
should  not  suffer  in  life,  liberty,  or  property.  They  be- 
lieved me  ;  they  confided  in  you  ;  and  because  they  did 
so,  you  treat  them  as  if  they  were  captives  taken  on 
the  battle  field,  and  were  yours  to  dispose  of  by  right 
of  war.  They  regarded  a  king's  word  as  inviolable,  and 
so  did  I.  It  is  true  that  your  Majesty  may,  if  so  dis- 
posed, violate  your  promise,  and  your  doing  so,  I  admit, 
increases  your  power  for  the  moment  —  I  may  even  add, 
renders  you  for  the  time  all-powerful.  But  O,  remem- 
ber this,  that  truth  is^  not  merely  the  brightest  jewel  in  a 
king's  crown,  but  that  it  is  the  very  substance  of  which 
that  crown  is  composed,  and  once  broken  by  him  who 
30 


350  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

wears  it,  It  is  speedily  followed  by  a  dissolution  of  all 
the  particles  that  constitute  the  royal  diadem.  The  king 
who  breaks  his  word  is  the  chief  conspirator  against  his 
own  throne,  and  his  evil  act  is  the  signal  to  endless  con- 
spiracies as  long  as  he  reigns.  The  favor,  then,  that  I 
have  to  demand  of  your  Majesty,  is,  that  you  will  fulfil 
your  promise,  and  by  setting  those  captives  free,  redeem 
the  oath  by  which  I  stand  pledged  to  them." 

"  I  had  hoped,"  said  Henry,  contemptuously,  "  that 
the  Duke  of  Lorraine  had  at  least  the  wit  of  a  hump- 
back, and  would  never  think  of  warning  a  king  (at  the 
head  of  such  an  army  as  I  now  command)  that  he 
should  do  that  which  it  was  plain  he  had  determined  not 
to  do.  Ask  me  something  that  I  may  grant,  Duke  God- 
frey—  for  instance,  one  of  the  estates  of  those  rebels, 
which  I  mean  to  confiscate.  Would  you  like  the  Count- 
ship  of  Saxony  ?  Old  Dedi  has  abandoned  it,  and  my 
trusty  Werenher  has  saved  the  son  the  trouble  of  seek- 
ing for  it." 

"  I  take  my  leave  of  your  Majesty,"  replied  Duke 
Godfrey.  "  To  make  such  a  proposition  to  me,  is  to  an- 
swer my  request  with  cruel  —  with  undeserved  mockery 
—  nay,  with  insult.  I  feel  that  I  have  excited  your 
Majesty's  hatred  against  me,  and  I  am  now  conscious, 
from  what  is  passing  before  my  eyes,  that  your  enmity 
will  only  cease  with  my  life ;  and  that,  as  my  existence 
must  be  to  you  a  reproach,  you  will  seek  to  deprive  me 
of  it.  Be  it  so  —  I  have  ever  preferred  my  honor  to 
my  life,  and,  to  preserve  that  honor  untarnished,  I  care 
not  if  the  assassin's  knife  should  reach  me.  I  am  cer- 
tain that  from  this  moment  I  am  a  doomed  man  — 
doomed  to  death  by  you.  As  such,  I  now  speak  to  you ; 
as  such,  I  not  only  warn  you,  but  I  venture  to  foretell 


THE  SURRENDER.  351 

to  you,  that,  from  tliis  breach  of  plighted  faith  with  the 
Saxon  nobihty,  you  will  have  to  date  your  downfall  — 
and  that,  so  low  shall  you  sink  in  the  estimation  of  man- 
kind, that  you  —  even  you,  now  the  mightiest  of  mortals 
—  shall  yet  beg  for  some  scanty  stipend,  to  procure  the 
common  necessaries  of  life,  and  shall  be  refused  that 
which,  as  a  mendicant,  you  have  asked  for.  The  time 
will  come  when  these  words  will  be  remembered  as  a 
prophecy.  Henry,  farewell  —  I  leave  you  to  die ;  I 
know  not  by  whose  hand  I  may  be  struck,  but  I  am  sure 
that  you  will  direct  the  blow.     Forever  —  farewell." 

A  few  minutes  afterwards  the  Duke  of  Lorraine  and 
all  his  military  retainers  marched  out  of  the  encampment 
of  Henry. 

The  Saxon  prisoners  had  not  the  opportunity  of  con- 
versing with  Godfrey ;  but,  in  his  sudden  withdrawal, 
of  which  they  were  made  aware,  previous  to  removal 
to  their  various  places  of  imprisonment,  they  became 
conscious  that  he,  with  each  one  of  themselves,  was  alike 
the  victim  of  the  duplicity,  the  falsehood,  and  the 
treachery  of  King  Henry. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

THE  PLOTTERS  AND  THE  LISTENER. 

"  LiEMAN,"  said  Henry,  to  his  attendant,  upon  retiring 
to  his  tent  at  night,  "  what  think  you  of  the  language 
that  the  hump-backed  duke  addressed  to  me  to-day, 
in  presence  of  so  many  persons,  with  respect  to  the  sur- 
render of  the  Saxons  ? " 


352  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROE. 

"  That  it  was  language  calculated  to  disparage  your 
dignity,  to  excite  discontent,  and  to  encourage  traitors  to 
rebel  against  you  ;  and  that  it  was  so  like  to  treason,  it 
should  be  punished  with  death,"  answered  Lieman,  aptly 
corresponding  with  the  spirit  in  which  the  question  had 
been  put  to  him. 

'*  I  think  so  too,"  observed  Henry ;  "  and  I  should 
regard  that  man  as  my  best  friend  and  most  faithful  ser- 
vant who  puts  the  sentence  of  death,  which  I  now  pro- 
nounce upon  Godfrey,  into  execution." 

"  Let  me  but  have  the  warrant  for  his  death  testified 
by  any  symbol  from  your  majesty,"  said  Lieman,  "  and  I 
answer  for  it,  with  my  life,  he  shall  not  be  a  week  longer 
in  existence.  Even  if  Godfrey  had  not  oifended  your 
Majesty  now,  you  would  soon  have  found  him  in  the  field 
an  armed  foe,  resolved  to  lose  his  life  in  opposition  to 
your  Majesty." 

"  Why  say  you  this  ?  "  asked  Henry  ;  "  I  know  not 
how  I  could,  except  by  the  withdrawal  of  my  promise 
from  the  Saxons,  have  provoked  his  enmity." 

"  Because,  your  Majesty  having  determined  upon  op- 
posing yourself  to  the  Pope  upon  the  cessation  of  this 
Saxon  war,  you  would  have  thereby  excited  against  your- 
self the  hostility  of  Godfrey  —  the  avowed  partisan  of  the 
pontificate,"  answered  Lieman. 

*'  Indeed !  "  said  Henry,  "  I  thought  not  of  that  before, 
and  yet  what  you  state  must  be  the  fact ;  for  I  have  heard 
him  say — ay,  a  hundred  times,  and  I  laughed  at  his 
absurdity  —  that  the  most  glorious  achievement,  and  the 
most  honorable  to  Germany,  in  all  its  annals,  was  the 
carnage  of  Germans  by  the  Normans  at  the  battle  of 
Dragonara,  when  seven  hundred  Swabians  died,  to  the 
last  man,  in  defending  the  dominions  of  Pope  Leo  IX. 


TEE  PLOTTERS   AND  THE  LISTENER.  353 

A  "hundred  times,  and  more,  I  have  heard  him  affirming 
that  the  18th  of  June,  1055,  was  a  day  to  be  remembered 
with  pride  by  every  German ;  and  I  now  recollect  that 
he  has  often  wished  that,  like  those  Swabian  dolts,  he 
might  so  meet  his  death  on  the  field  of  battle,  and  thus 
be  permitted  to  expire  like  a  soldier,  and  as  a  martyr. 
Yes,  Lieman,  you  are  right.  Even  if  he  had  not  offended 
me,  he  must  be  got  rid  of ;  for  he  will  be  one  soldier  less 
in  the  ranks  of  that  —  which  I  now  regard  as  my  sole 
enemy  —  the  papacy  at  Rome." 

"  I  know  not,"  remarked  Lieman,  **  when  your  Majes- 
ty may  deem  it  prudent  publicly  to  declare  your  hostility 
to  Rome ;  but,  whenever  you  do  so,  you  will  find  arrayed 
on  your  side  hundreds  of  supporters  that  you  wot  not  of!  " 

"  And  who  may  these  be  ?  "  inquired  Henry,  "  that  I 
may  feel  obhged  to  them  for  their  sympathy,  even  though. 
I  may  not  require  their  aid." 

"They  are,"  replied  Lieman,  "the  Paterini  —  they 
are  to  be  found  in  all  parts  of  Germany  —  they  swarm  in 
Lombardy,  and  have  associates  even  in  Rome  itself.  They 
'  have,  according  to  the  several  localities  in  which  they  are 
placed,  special  objects  that  they  desire  to  accomplish ;  but 
in  all  there  is  to  be  found  one  common  principle  —  a 
hatred  of  the  strict  supervision  of  a  scrupulous  and  a  pow- 
erful priesthood  —  because,  wherever  such  a  priesthood 
is  to  be  found,  they  prevent  men  from  indulging  their 
natural  propensities.  The  Paterini  wish  to  enjoy  life,  and 
to  see  all  others  enjoy  it  —  and  hence  they  hate  those 
priests  who  denounce  the  marriage  of  priests,  and  they 
love  to  see  the  offices,  riches,  and  emoluments  of  the 
church  bestowed  on  laymen,  and  possessed  by  laymen, 
because  then  men  are  free  to  live  as  they  please.  Hence, 
they  are  the  natui-al  enemies  of  the  Pope,  and  of  a  strict 
30* 


354  THE   POPE   AND  THE   EMPEROR. 

clergy ;  and  they  are  the  natural  supporters  of  your  Ma- 
jesty, and  of  a  free  living  priesthood,  and  would  wish  to 
see  you  the  ruler  at  Rome,  and  the  Pope  banished  from 
it,  or  put  to  death  within  its  walls." 

"  Then  these  friends  of  yours  —  for  I  presume  that 
they  are  your  friends,"  said  Henry,  "  since  you  speak 
so  confidently  of  their  sentiments,  greatly  approve  of  my 
selling  the  bishoprics  and  abbacies  in  my  dominions." 

"  Most  highly,"  answered  Lieman.  *'  I  have  the  con- 
viction, that  the  only  good  use  that  can  be  made  of  a 
church  is  to  convert  it  into  a  source  of  profit  for  the  state  ; 
I  can  say  that  for  them,  because  I  am  myself  a  Paterini." 

*'  I  am  glad  to  know  the  fact,"  said  Henry,  with  a  smile 
that  had  much  meaning  in  it.     "  Are  they  numerous  ? " 

"  Very  numerous,"  said  Lieman. 

"  And,  I  suppose,  can  recognize  each  other  wherever 
they  meet  ?  "  inquired  Henry. 

"Assuredly,"  answered  Lieman.  "  They  have  secret 
signs,  which  none  but  one  Paterini  can  tell  to  another, 
under  the  penalty  of  death." 

"  Do  they  believe  in  a  God  ?  "  asked  Henry, 

"  Some  of  them  do  —  others  do  not,"  replied  Lieman. 
**  Each  is  free  to  think  as  he  pleases ;  but  no  one  can  be 
a  member  who  does  not  think  that  Nature,  which  gave  us 
passions,  intended  we  should  indulge  them  ;  and,  that 
whoever  attempts  to  restrain  them,  be  he  pope,  prelate, 
priest,  or  layman,  is  a  tyrant,  and,  as  such,  to  be  encoun- 
tered in  private  and  in  public,  by  word  and  deed,  wher- 
ever it  is  possible  —  and  by  the  sword  whenever  it  is 
practicable." 

"  This  is  a  very  formidable  association,"  observed  Hen- 
ry, "  according  to  your  description  of  it.  I  may  congrat- 
ulate myself  upon  having  its  support,  as  my  objects  coincide 
BO  well  with  its  own." 


«.      THE  PLOTTERS  AND   THE   LISTENER.  355 

"  They  do  so  completely.  There  is  no  name  so  popular 
■with  the  Paterini  as  that  of  Henry  IV.  If  their  daggers 
alone  could  accomplish  such  an  object,  you  must  have  long 
since  been  elevated  to  the  Koman  throne  upon  the  ruins 
of  the  papacy,"  said  Lieman,  proud  of  disclosing  to  the 
king  the  opinions  of  the  society  of  Avliich  he  was  a  member. 

"  Could  I  be  admitted  a  member  of  the  society  1 "  asked 
Henry,  anxious  to  have  these  conspirators  Avithin  his 
power. 

"  It  is  impossible,"  replied  Lieman  ;  "  for  no  man  of 
title  can  be  one  of  the  Paterini.  It  is  one  of  their  fun- 
dam.ental  rules  ;  but  whatever  your  Majesty  wishes  them 
to  do,  shall  be  done  by  them.  It  was,  aided  by  the 
Paterini,  that  I  excited,  as  you  desired,  that  commotion 
at  Cologne,  which  was  so  near  costing  Anno  his  life.  And 
now  I  have  but  to  tell  them  that  you  desire  the  death  of 
Duke  Godfrey,  and  from  that  moment  every  step  he  takes 
■will  be  dogged  ;  and,  at  the  first  favorable  moment,  he 
will  be  despatched." 

"  I  thank  them  for  their  devotion,  and  you  for  your 
zeal,"  said  Henry.  "  The  task,  however,  is  one  that  I 
prefer  being  consigned  to  your  hand  alone.  It  is  full  of 
peril  —  and  I  desire  to  intrust  it  to  you,  because  I  am 
aware  that  yours  is  a  courage  which  no  danger  can  appall. 
Supposing  I  were  to  elevate  you  to  the  office  of  a  count, 
could  you  still  continue  to  be  a  confederate  of  the  Pat- 
erini : 

"  ]\Ie  —  a  count !"  said  Lieman,  gasping  with  joy  and 
surprise.  "  0,  yes  —  for,  having  been  admitted  a  member 
when  I  had  not  a  title,  rank  could  not  deprive  me  of  my 
rights  as  an  associate." 

''  I  rejoice  to  hear  it,"  observed  Henry,  "  for  I  should 
be  sorry  to  lose  so  trusty  a  means  of  communicating  with 


356         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

them.  I  shall  have  need  to  do  so  soon ;  for  the  time  Is 
not  distant  when  open  war  between  me  and  the  Pope 
shall  be  declared.     Is  Bishop  Croft  yet  returned  ?  " 

*'  He  rode  into  the  camp  not  an  hour  ago,"  answered 
Lieman. 

"  What  thinks  he  of  the  death  of  his  cousin,  "Weren- 
her  ?  "  asked  Henry. 

"  As  little  as  men  of  the  world  think  of  those  who  can 
no  longer  be  of  any  service  to  them,"  replied  Lieman. 
"  He  believes,  or  is  content  to  believe,  and  cares  little 
whether  it  be  true  or  false,  that  Werenher  was  slain  by 
Godfrey,  in  revenge  for  the  assassination  of  Dedi." 

"  Then  you  are  confident,"  Henry  said,  "  that  Weren- 
her's  death  makes  no  change  in  his  devotion  to  me  ?  " 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  answered  Lieman ;  "  because  he 
feels  convinced  it  cannot  interfere  with  the  promotion  of 
his  own  interests.  He  is  devoted  to  you,  because  he  is 
devoted  to  his  own  ambition ;  and  he  knows  he  can  only 
climb  to  a  higher  position  in  the  church  by  the  aid  of 
your  arm.     He  therefore  belongs  to  you  soul  and  body  !  " 

"  I  like  to  hear  such  tidings  of  my  servants,  for  they 
are  the  men  I  can  most  trust,"  remarked  Henry.  *'  Go, 
then,  Lieman,  to  Bishop  Croft ;  bid  him  be  here  with  all 
convenient  speed.  As  to  you,  remember  that  the  day  on 
which  you  tell  me  Duke  Godfrey  of  Lorraine  is  dead  — 
whether  that  death  be  by  violence  or  by  accident,  the 
lands,  power,  and  title  of  a  Thuringlan  count  shall  be 
bestowed  upon  you," 

Lieman,  elated  with  joy,  passed  from  the  presence  of 
his  sovereign. 

"  I  have  been  too  confiding  —  too  unsuspicious  a  mas- 
ter," thought  Henry  to  himself  "  Here  have  I  been, 
for  years,  associating   with  two  most  dangerous  men. 


THE   PLOTTERS  AND  THE   LISTENER.  357 

Werenher  and  Lieman,  and  knew  not  the  peril  in  which 
I  stood.  Any  day,  for  some  years  past,  Werenher  might 
have  destroyed  me  with  poison ;  and,  at  any  time  during 
the  same  period,  this  Lieman  might  have  admitted  a  furi- 
ous homicidal  Paterini  into  my  presence  ;  for,  if  I  am  not 
much  mistaken,  these  Paterinis  hate  kings  and  emperors 
as  much  as  popes,  bishops,  and  priests.  Lieman  has  not 
told  me  all  their  secrets.  But  if  he  once  get  within  the 
sweep  of  Godfrey's  sword,  I  shall  hear  no  more  of  him  ; 
whereas,  if  he  slay  Godfrey,  he  will  be  so  far  useful,  in 
ridding  me  of  a  dangerous  foe  ;  and  I  can  afterwards 
consider  what  I  shall  do  with  him  and  his  obscure  band 
of  vulgar  conspirators.  At  present,  I  have  a  mightier, 
more  formidable,  and  more  dangerous  foe  to  grapple  with. 
Ah !  my  dearest  Croft,"  he  said,  throwing  his  arms  around 
the  Bishop  of  Hildesheim,  as  he  entered  the  tent,  "  I 
trust  I  see  you  in  perfect  health." 

"  For  years  I  have  never  been  so  well  —  never  felt 
myself  in  such  perfect  strength  and  vigor  as  at  this  mo- 
ment —  no,  not  even  in  my  boyhood,  when  all  my 
thoughts  were  of  religious  studies,  or  of  rustic  sports," 
replied  Croft. 

"  I  am  rejoiced  to  hear  it,"  remarked  Henry,  "  both 
for  your  sake  and  my  own.  I  require  from  you  all  your 
energy,  I  demand  from  you  all  your  strength,  and  I  seek 
from  you  all  your  courage  ;  for  I  have  a  proposal  to  make 
to  you,  which  I  would  long  hesitate  even  to  wlxispcr  to 
any  but  yourself ;  and  not  even  to  you,  but  that  I  feel 
assured  you  are  fully  qualified  to  assume  all  the  respon- 
sibility I  desire  to  impose  upon  you." 

"  I  make  no  professions,"  said  Croft.  "  Try  me  ;  and 
judge  by  such  a  test  whether  or  not  I  am  faithful  to  you." 

"  With  such  a  man  as  you,  I  will  not,"  observed  Henry, 


358  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROE. 

"  descend  to  circumlocution  of  any  kind.  I  then  say  at 
once  to  you,  what  would  you  think,  if  I  asked  you  to 
place  yourself  in  a  position  of  direct  hostility  with  the 
Pope  ?  " 

"  I  would  say,"  answered  Croft,  "  that  if  your  Majesty 
did  not  feel  assured  that  I  was  a  man  of  dauntless  cour- 
age and  of  unshaken  resolution,  you  would  never  invite 
me,  whether  I  were  a  layman  or  religious,  to  place  my- 
self in  a  position  in  which  I  must  provoke  the  hostility 
of  Hildebrand,  a  pontiff  whose  nerves  would  never  trem- 
ble, although  he  felt  the  whole  earth  shaking  beneath 
his  feet." 

"  And  yet,"  said  Henry,  *'  I  do  invite  you  to  take  that 
position." 

'^And  I  am  prepared  to  take  it,"  observed  Croft. 
*'  Have  I  now  answered  you  as  your  Majesty  wished  ?  " 

"You  have  answered,"  said  Henry,  ''in  a  manner 
that  completely  corresponds  with  my  expectations.  You 
have  done  so  in  such  a  manner,  that  I  say  to  you,  ask 
from  me,  for  the  future,  whatever  you  wish,  and  every 
thing  that  you  desire,  short  of  my  crown  itself,  shall  be 
given  to  you.  To  the  fulfilment  of  this  promise,  as  long 
as  I  live,  I  pledge  my  faith,  my  oath,  and  my  honor." 

"  Most  gracious  and  most  generous  master,"  said  Croft, 
*'  tell  me  now  what  is  the  particular  duty  you  desire  me 
to  perform  ?  " 

"  I  desire  you  to  take  upon  yourself  the  highest  office 
in  the  world.  I  desire  you  to  become  a  sovereign  !  " 
answered  Henry. 

"  The  highest  office  in  the  world !  I  —  a  sovereign ! 
The  Prior  of  AschafFenburg  —  a  sovereign  !  "  exclaimed 
Croft,  his  ruddy  cheek  assuming  the  pale  and  leaden 
hue  of  death,  as  he  repeated  the  words:  "I  —  a  soy- 


THE   PLOTTERS   AND    THE    LISTENER.  359 

erelgn !  Can  I  have  heard  your  Majesty  aright  ?  "What 
can  be  the  meaning  of  your  words  ?  I  do  not  under- 
stand them  —  I  —  the  highest  office  !  I  —  a  sovereign ! 
O,  it  is  a  dream  —  or,  perchance,  an  attack  of  illness 
has  made  me  misinterpret  your  Majesty's  words  ! " 

"No  —  no,"  remarked  Henry  laughing,  and  amused 
at  the  confusion  and  amazement  portrayed  in  the  features 
of  Croft.  "  What  I  say,  I  mean ;  I  could  not,  I  think, 
in  plainer  words,  ask  you  to  become  that  which  I  wish 
to  see  you  —  a  pope  !  " 

"A  pope,"  observed  Croft,  hastily;  "  the  Pope  lives 
at  Kome  —  the  chair  of  St.  Peter  is  filled  by  Gregory 
VII.  That  formidable  man,  who  is  best  known  and 
feared,  by  us  German  priests,  as  the  Archdeacon  Hilde- 
brand,  dwells  now  in  Rome ;  and  the  moment  he  hears 
of  such  a  project  as  this  he  will  fling,  with  a  ready  hand, 
a  thunder-storm  of  excommunications  upon  oui*  heads." 

"  But  if  I  insure  the  popedom  to  you,  are  you  ready 
to  set  his  excommunication  at  defiance  ?  "  asked  Henry. 

"  I  am,"  was  the  ready  and  instant  reply  of  Croft. 

Henry  embraced  Croft,  and  then  said  :  — 

"  True  and  trusty  friend,  I  may  now  tell  you  a  secret, 
which,  if  there  had  been  the  slightest  shrinking  on  your 
part,  I  would  have  concealed  from  you.  I  have  only 
waited  for  the  cessation  of  this  Saxon  war,  to  develop 
plans  that  have  long  since  been  contemplated  by  me.  I 
conceive  that  the  popedom  should  be  in  my  gift  as  Em- 
peror of  the  Romans  —  that  no  one  should  be  pope  but 
one  that  is  devoted  to  my  interests.  I  hesitated,  for 
some  time,  whether  I  should  make  you  or  the  worthy 
Cadalous,  my  pope  ;  not  because  I  doubted  which  was 
the  more  fitting  —  but  because  I  am  told  that  Cadalous, 
though  a  priest,  has  had  a  wife ;  and,  therefore,  was  cer- 


360  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

tain,  for  liis  own  sake,  not  to  reform  that  abuse,  in  which 
he  himself  had  been  a  participator.  Though  thus  com- 
mitted in  hostility  to  Rome,  he  is,  I  think,  a  weak  man, 
whose  fears  of  an  hereafter  might  be  worked  upon  — 
whilst  you,  I  am  sure,  have  the  courage  of  adamant  — 
you  will  care  as  little  for  the  thunders  of  an  excommu- 
nication as  for  the  clamors  of  the  mob,  who  are  all  upon 
the  side  of  Hildebrand,  and  who  exalt  him  for  his  bravery, 
because  he  denounces  all  archbishops,  bishops,  and  priests 
indebted  for  their  rank  to  what  he  calls  simony.  I  ask 
you,  then,  to  become  my  pope,  in  order  that  we  may, 
together,  put  down  that  Pope  at  Rome,  Gregory  VII., 
who  holds  now  in  his  hand  the  hearts  of  the  people  as 
firmly  as  if  they  were  there  enclosed  with  clasps  of  iron. 
It  is  a  great  task  I  ask  you  to  perform  —  are  you  pre- 
pared to  undertake  it  ?  " 

*'  I  am,"  again  promptly  replied  Croft. 

"  It  is  bravely  answered,"  observed  Henry,  "  and 
will,  I  am  sure,  be  as  resolutely  performed.  Be  assured. 
Croft,  that  I  have  done,  and  am  doing  my  utmost  to 
remove  the  difficulties  from  the  path  both  of  you  and 
of  myself.  I  am,  at  this  moment,  in  communication 
with  Cenci,  the  prefect  of  Rome,  for  the  purpose  of  in- 
ducing him  to  seize  upon  Gregory,  the  first  favorable 
opportunity,  and  to  bring  him  here  a  prisoner.  Cenci 
has  promised  to  do  this :  he  has  even  declared  that,  if 
the  Pope  refuses  to  obey  his  orders,  he  will  slay  him. 
This  much  I  have  provided  for  at  Rome.  I  have  not 
been  idle  in  Germany.  I  have  used  the  display  of  my 
army  here  to  some  effect  upon  the  fears  of  the  bishops ; 
and  there  are  now,  few  amongst  them  who  would  refuse, 
or  rather,  who  would  dare  to  refuse,  upon  my  demand, 
the  deposition  of  Gregory,  and  to  elect  whomsoever  I 


THE    PLOTTERS    AND    THE    LISTENER.  361 

may   name,    as    pope.     What   think   you   of  my  plot. 
Croft  ?  " 

"That  it  is  almost  perfect  in  all  its  parts,"  answered 
Croft.  "  There  is  still,  however,  one  material  thing  want- 
ing to  it." 

*'  And  what  is  that  ?  "  asked  Henry. 

"  It  is,"  answered  the  king's  astute  adviser,  "  that  in 
the  spiritual  war  in  which  you  are  about  to  engage,  you 
should  be  prepared  to  be  the  first  assailant ;  that,  with- 
out waiting  to  be  attacked,  you  should  attack ;  that, 
without  delaying  to  be  excommunicated  by  the  Pope, 
you  should  excommunicate  the  Pope." 

"It  is  a  valuable  suggestion,"  Henry  remarked,  "but 
amongst  all  my  bishops,  who  but  yourself  would  have 
the  courage  to  do  that  ?  " 

"  I  know  there  is  one  who,  I  am  sure,  would  do  it," 
observed  Croft.      "  It  is  William  of  Utrecht." 

"  How  came  you  to  entertain  so  high  an  opinion  of 
William,  Bishop  of  Utrecht  ? "  asked  Henry.  "  He 
rarely  comes  to  court  —  seldom  is  seen  in  his  diocese  — 
and  appears  to  be  a  man,  who,  though  a  bishop,  takes 
little  interest  in  the  affliirs  of  church  or  state." 

"I  say  it,"  said  Croft,  "because  I  am  pretty  certain  I 
have  discovered  the  secret  of  his  life.  I  know  that 
there  is  something  like  insanity  in  the  intensity  of  his 
hatred  to  every  Pope  that  has  been  in  Rome,  from 
Gregory  VI.  to  Archdeacon  Hildebrand  —  that  he  chafes 
under  the  repeated  excommunications  that  have  been 
launched  against  those  clergymen  Avho  have  violated  the 
vows  that  bound  them,  solely  and  entirely,  to  the  service 
of  the  altar ;  and  that  he  will  rejoice  in  the  opportunity 
of  denouncing  him  who  has  been  most  urgent  in  issuing 
Buch  excommunications." 
31 


362  THE   POPE  AND  THE   E5IPEE0R. 

*'  I  am  deliglited  to  hear  this,"  remarked  Henry ;  '*  it 
is  another  instrument  to  insure  success ;  but,  for  that 
success,  I  count  mainly  upon  you  and  your  unslninking 
firmness." 

"  In  your  service,"  replied  Croft,  "  I  shall  know 
neither  fear,  compunction,  nor  remorse." 

*'  I  embraced  you  as  ijiy  friend,"  observed  Henry, 
*'  when  you  entered  this  tent ;  I  now  embrace  you  as  my 
fellow-sovereign  :  and,  as  more  than  one  of  my  prede- 
cessors has,  as  a  mark  of  respect  for  the  pontiff,  held 
his  bridle-rein  for  a  short  distance,  I  shall  now,  as  a 
proof  of  respect,  and  of  love  for  my  pope,  see  liim  out 
of  my  tent,  and  safely  placed  tipon  his  steed." 

And  so  saying,  the  proud  King  of  Germany  led  the 
exulting  Croft,  by  the  hand,  from  his  tent. 

As  both  disappeared  in  the  darkness  outside,  the  folds 
of  the  tent,  which,  when  rolled  together,  left  a  space  for 
the  entrance,  were  shaken  gently  out,  and  thence  emerged 
one  who  appeared  in  a  strange  garb  to  be  seen  in  that 
costly  tent  —  it  was  a  man  wearing  the  torn  and  misera- 
ble robe  of  a  common  mendicant  —  it  was  Bernhard  who 
was  thus  disguised.  He  crept  cautiously  out  into  the 
open  air,  and,  as  he  did  so,  was  so  bewildered  Avith  what 
he  had  just  heard,  that  his  thoughts  only  came  by  fits 
and  starts : 

"  What  a  wise  man  is  that  pilgrim  !  Most  lucky  he 
sent  me,  so  disguised,  to  be  a  spy  !  What  strange  things 
I  have  heard !  —  my  former  avaricious,  wicked  master, 
to  be  a  pope !  Lord  have  mercy  on  us  !  —  and  then  the 
plot  against  the  real  pope's  life  —  and  the  plot  against 
Duke  Godfrey's  life.  What  a  wicked  -world  it  is !  I 
must  tell  all  to  the  pilgrim  —  he  will  best  know  ■s\  hat  to 
do.    And  then  that  strange  Bishop  of  "Utrecht !  —  eh !  — 


THE  TREASURE-CHAMBER.  363 

it  might  he  I  —  I  must  not  forget  that  either.  I  hope  I 
may  meet  Lieman  before  he  can  overtake  Godfrey  —  if 
I  do,  I  shall  save  at  least  one  good  man's  life.  O,  for 
an  aim  of  three  seconds  at  that  villain  Lieman.  Even 
though  I  have  such  news  as  this  to  tell,  I  would  stop 
to  kill  him,  and  avenge  Meginherr." 

So  thinking,  Bernhard  made  his  way  out  of  the  king's 
encampment,  and  speeded,  hurriedly  as  he  could,  towards 
Erzegebirge. 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

THE    TREASURE-CHAMBER. 

The  Bishop  Croft  was  alone  in  his  chamber,  and  in. 
that  chamber  he  had  secreted  the  entire  vast  mass  of  gold, 
silver,  and  jewelry,  which  he  had  passed  an  entire  life  in 
accumulating. 

Croft  was  alone.  He  had  dismissed  all  his  attend- 
ants, with  the  special  command  that  he  was  not  to  be 
disturbed  for  some  hours,  as  he  stood  in  need  of  perfect 
quiet  and  of  complete  repose. 

The  Bishop  Croft  was  alone.  He  sat  in  his  episcopal 
chair,  his  head  resting  on  his  right  hand,  and  the  bright 
rays  of  a  warm  setting  sun  flashed  out  in  purple  sparks 
from  the  amethyst-jewelled  ring  of  that  hand,  as  its 
fingers  moved  convulsively  upon  the  quick-beating  tem- 
ples of  the  bishop. 

The  Bishop  Croft  was  alone,  and  there  was  not  a  sound 
to  be  heard,  within  doors  or  without,  to  jar  Avith  that 
profound  meditation  in  which  he  was  now  buried. 


364         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEEOR. 

There  Avas  a  smile  upon  his  lip  —  there  was  the  flash  of 
triumph  in  his  eye.  He  looked  as  if  he  were  a  consum- 
mate general,  who  had,  by  his  skill,  gained  a  decisive 
battle,  and  not  content  with  enjoying  his  victory,  was 
calculating  upon  all  the  great  results  that  might  be  de- 
rived from  it. 

Thus  sat  Bishop  Croft  in  his  solitary  chamber ;  and 
thus  did  he  commune  with  himself  :  — 

"  With  the  exception  of  the  mere  performance  of  a 
few  ceremonies,  I  am  now  that  which  I  often  wished, 
but  scarcely  could  ever  have  hoped  to  be.  Kings  shall 
bow  down  before  me ;  and  ambassadors  from  the  most 
distant  parts  of  the  globe  shall  come  to  lay  at  my  feet 
whatever  is  most  rare  and  most  precious  in  their  respec- 
tive countries.  My  power  shall  extend,  not  merely  to 
the  utmost  limits  of  Christendom,  but  beyond  them  — 
for  / — am  the  Pope. 

"  The  Pope  —  His  Holiness  the  Pope ! 

^Yes  —  these  are  the  titles  with  which  men  shall 
greet  me. 

"  The  despised  Prior  of  Aschaffenburg  shall  be  a  pope, 
and  in  Rome,  too  !  and  those  who  contemned  me,  and 
those  who  denounced  me,  because  I  attached  its  proper 
value  to  wealth,  shall  be  forced  to  bow  down  to  me  as  a 
supreme  pontiff!  —  to  fear  my  power,  if  they  will  not 
court  my  favor. 

"  How  different  is  my  position  from  that  of  the  simple- 
minded  Meginherr !  He  now  lies  forgotten  in  his 
grave.  He  is  as  if  he  never  had  been,  whilst  I,  living, 
shall  be  a  pope,  and  when  dead,  remembered  forever. 
My  name  shall  appear  in  the  annals  of  all  nations.  But 
in  Avhat  terms  shall  I  be  spoken  of  ? 

*'  I  care  not.     Let  the  future  provide  for  itself.    This 


THE   TREASURE-CHAMBER.  365 

is  tlie  time  for  me.  At  present  I  am  to  be  a  pope.  Yes, 
Pope ;  despite  the  dauntless  Hildebrand,  who  now  sits 
enthroned  at  Rome. 

"  He  will  call  me  a  schismatic  —  he  will  denounce  me 
as  an  anti-pope. 

"  We  shall  mutually  excommunicate  each  other  — 
that  is  all. 

"  He  and  I  do  but  typify  the  state  of  the  church  at 
the  present  moment.  There  is  a  schism.  He  embodies 
the  independence  of  the  church  as  distinct  from  the 
state  —  I,  the  dependence  of  the  church  upon  the  state. 

*'  "Which  of  us  is  right  ?  It  is  a  great  question.  It  will 
outlive  us  both.  Neither  he  nor  I  can  decide  it.  All 
I  have  to  do  is  to  take  advantage  of  the  quarrel,  and 
convert  it  to  my  own  profit. 

*'  In  such  a  quarrel  I  am  sure  of  the  victory,  because 
I  have  opposed  to  me  nothing  more  than  the  will  and 
the  weakness  of  Hildebrand.  His  only  allies  are  fanatic 
but  helpless  clergymen ;  his  only  supporters  the  poov  — 
the  multitude  —  still  more  helpless,  still  more  weak,  and 
still  more  contemptible  than  the  old  man  at  Rome,  and 
his  adherents  who  serve  at  the  altar.  He  is  surrounded 
with  personal  enemies.  Some  desire  his  deposition,  some 
thirst  for  his  blood  —  all  are  ready  to  cooperate  in  his 
downfall. 

"  What,  on  the  other  hand,  have  I  to  aid  me  ?  First, 
the  full  support  of  Henry,  who  identifies  himself  with 
this  struggle  against  Hildebrand;  secondly,  the  avowed 
or  the  covert  support  of  every  European  monarch,  who 
must  perceive,  that  with  my  exaltation,  will  be  secured 
to  himself  the  free  disposal,  according  to  his  desire,  of 
all  the  bishoprics  and  abbacies  in  his  own  dominions ; 
31* 


366         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

thirdly,  I  must  have  for  myself  the  hearty  cooperation 
of  every  one  who  desires  to  obtain  the  highest  rank  in 
the  church,  by  means  of  the  personal  or  pecuniary  influ- 
ence he  can  command ;  and  with  these,  the  cooperation 
of  all  the  great  laymen,  who  desire  to  have  restored  to 
their  families  those  fertile  lands  of  which  the  piety  of 
their  ancestors  have  divested  them  ;  and  with  these  lay- 
men there  must  be,  and  especially  in  Germany,  that 
large  body  of  clergymen  who  are  threatened  by  Hilde- 
brand  with  being  deprived  alike  of  office,  rank,  and 
riches,  if  they  will  not  live  piously,  chastely,  and  virtu- 
ously. 

''Imperial  and  kingly  power  —  the  passions,  stronger 
than  the  armies  of  kings,  and  wealth,  more  omnipotent 
than  armies  or  the  passions  themseh'es,  are  ranged  upon 
my  side.      What  then  can  resist  me  ? 

"  Nothing  —  no  —  nothing  on  this  earth  can  do  so. 

"  I  am  a  pope,  in  hostility  to  one  who  calls  himself 
the  Pope;  but,  in  a  few  days  —  perhaps,  in  a  few 
hours  —  perhaps,  even  now,  if  Cenci  has  fulfilled  his 
promise,  Hildebrand  is  no  more  ;  and  I  am,  alone,  and 
uncontested,  the  Pope  —  His  Holiness,  the  Pope  ! 

"  Or,  if  it  be  not  so  ?  If  accident  preserves  Hilde- 
brand from  the  sword  of  Cenci  ?  If  Hildebrand  fly  in 
safety  from  Rome,  and  some  unforeseen  chance  raise  up, 
in  some  unknown  and  hitherto  undiscoverable  quarter, 
friends  for  him,  and  he  engages  in  a  quarrel  with  me  — 
presumes  to  question  my  right  to  that  title,  which,  from 
this  day  forward,  I  mean  to  assume,  then,  in  that  case, 
I  have  here  —  ay,  even  here  —  friends  who  never  failed 
me  —  true  allies,  whose  mere  presence  alone,  can  not 
only  win  for  me  peace,  but  secure  to  me  victory. 


THE  TREASURE-CHAMBER.  36T 

"  Let  me  look  upon  tliem  —  let  me  feast  my  eyes  with 
the  sight  of  them  —  let  me  seat  myself  as  a  king  in  the 
midst  of  them." 

So  speaking.  Bishop  Croft  rose  from  his  episcopal 
chair,  and  took  from  a  casket,  which  he  wore  around  his 
neck,  a  small  key,  applied  it  to  a  minute  orifice  in  the 
wall,  and  a  panel,  large  as  a  door,  opened,  and  instantly 
a  flood  of  sunshine  poured  into  a  recess,  like  a  room,  it 
was  so  wide  and  so  high,  and  the  walls  were  one  dazzling 
mass  of  precious  stones,  and  the  pavement  completely 
hidden  by  the  heaps  of  gold  and  silver  coins  which 
covered  it  over,  and  lay,  in  many  places,  as  if  they  had 
been  shovelled  up,  in  large  masses,  together. 

A  thousand  and  a  thousand  times  had  Croft  looked 
upon  this  accumulation  of  riches,  which  was  apparently 
incalculable.  Never  had  he  gazed  upon  it  but  with 
admiration  —  and  yet,  never  before  did  he  feel  such 
exultation  in  contemplating  it  as  at  that  moment. 

"  O,  my  wealth  !  my  own  wealth  !  my  own  precious 
wealth  !  "  he  cried ;  "  Avith  what  pains  have  I  not  col- 
lected, and  with  what  an?ciety  have  I  not  gathered  thee, 
piece  by  piece,  and  bit  by  bit,  together  i  How  gladly 
hast  thou  grown  and  thriven  beneath  my  care  —  the  pale 
silver,  the  ruddy  gold,  and  the  rich  diamond.  I  have 
watched  thee  by  day,  and  I  have  cared  for  thee  by  night ; 
and  now  thou  sparkiest  before  my  eyes,  and  thou  smilest 
upon  thy  loving  master,  and  thou  tellcst  him  that  thou 
wilt  wait  upon  him,  and  do  his  bidding,  when  he  wears 
the  tiara.  O,  wealth  !  wealth  !  wealth  !  precious  wealth  ! 
he  who  clutches  thee,  as  I  do  now,  holds  that  for  which 
vYrchimcdes  wished,  when  he  declared  that  he  could, 
with  it,  move  the  entire  world." 

As  Bishop  Croft  spoke  these  words,  he  flung  himself 


368  THE  POPE  AND   THE   EMPEROR. 

dovm.  upon  the  floor,  and  rested  his  glowing  cheek  upon 
a  mound  of  gold,  as  if  it  were  a  pillow. 

'•'  Henry's  pope,"  he  said,  with  a  smile,  **  reposes 
upon  that  which  is  greater  than  king,  emperor,  or  pon- 
tiff. O,  it  is  glorious !  almost  Godlike !  thus  to  lie 
amid  that  which  all  men  worship  —  and  to  think  it  is 
my  own  —  all  my  own.  How  these  jewels  above  me 
sparkle,  as  if  they  were  so  many  stars  —  how  the  gold 
reddens  around  me,  as  if  the  coins  were  beginning  to 
glow  with  a  vital  heat,  and  would,  of  themselves,  move 
to  do  my  bidding. 

*' O,  gold  —  precious,  glorious  gold! 

"  But  what  is  this  ?  "  said  Croft,  starting  up  from  the 
recumbent  posture  in  which  he  had  been  reposing.  "  It 
seems  to  me  as  if  that  heap  of  gold  had  suddenly  be- 
come one  mass  of  fire  beneath  my  cheek,  and  burned  it 
to  the  bone.  And  eh  !  what  is  this  ?  Why,  the  gold  by 
my  side,  if  I  touch  it  with  my  hand,  seems,  also,  changing 
to  fire.  And  O,  horrible,  I  seem  to  be  lying  amidst 
flames. 

"Ah!  I  have  been  thinking  over  much  —  I  must 
leave  this  —  yes  —  I  must  —  must  quit  this  rich  treas- 
lu'e-chamber. 

"Great  heavens!  what  is  this  ?  I  —  0,  horrible  !  I 
cannot  stir. 

"  And  see  —  see,  my  jewels  are  changing  —  chang- 
ing —  O,  monstrous  !  they  have  changed  into  white  par- 
ticles of  fire,  and  are  now  dropping  down  upon  me  In 
burning  flakes. 

"  I  am  all  in  a  flame  of  fire,  and  yet  I  cannot  move  ! 

"  It  is  my  over-heated,  over-worked  brain  that  is 
thus  deluding  me  —  I  know  it  well  —  and  yet  I  am 
burning  —  bui-nlng  —  ah  !  the  gold  is  melting,  and  sink- 


THE  TREASURE-CHAMBER.  369 

ing  into  my  flesh.  And  hark  !  there  are  strangers  in  the 
outer  room. 

"They  come  to  help  me.  No  —  no — they  come  not 
to  help  me.  Their  laugh  is  loud  and  malignant  as  that 
of  demons. 

"  They  are  demons  !  They  tear  down  the  diamonds 
of  fire  and  fling  them  on  me.  They  heap  up  the  gold 
in  shovels,  and  are  smothering  me  with  the  scorching 
masses.  They  are  burying  me  —  they  are  burying  me 
in  hell.  Ah !  one  has  caught  me  by  the  neck  —  he 
is  choking  me. 

"  0,  I  am  slain  —  slain  in  my  sins. 

«  Help  !  help  !  help  !  " 

A  shriek  of  agony  rang  through  the  mansion  of  the 
reprobate  which  made  the  flesh  of  all  creep  who  heard 
it ;  for  the  sound  was  expressive  of  the  intensity  of 
extreme  agony,  and  of  the  absolute  horror  of  despair. 

The  hearers  feared,  for  a  time,  to  move.  They  did 
not  dare  to  ask  each  other  Avhence  it  came.  They  trem- 
bled, as  they  felt  assured  that  it  had  issued  from  the 
private  room  of  Croft.  With  timid  steps  they  advanced 
to  the  door  —  knocked  first  lowly,  and  then  loudly  at  it  ; 
but  there  was  no  response  given  to  their  repeated  calls. 
At  length  the  attendants  of  Croft  burst  open  the  door. 
The  spectacle  that  there  presented  itself  to  their  eyes  it 
would  be  difficult,  accurately,  to  describe. 

Upon  breaking  open  the  door,  they  discovered  the 
deceased,  with  his  neck  as  if  it  had  been  broken  ;  his 
skin  dark  and  discolored  —  himself  a  rigid  corpse  —  the 
miserable  wretch  lying  dead  upon  all  his  treasures,  which 
were  strewed  beneath  him  as  if  he  rested  upon  a  bed  ! 


370         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROK. 

CHAPTER    XXX. 

THE  EVIL  DEED  AVENGED. 

On  travelled  Bernharcl,  hastily,  anxiously,  and  hop- 
ingly,  for  lie  believed  that  on  his  speed  depended, 
not  merely  the  life  of  Godfrey,  but  thousands  of  his 
fellow-creatures.  In  his  breast  there  lay  deep  and  im- 
portant secrets,  and  upon  their  quick  disclosure  to  the 
pilgrim  (regarded  by  him  as  the  wisest  and  best  of  men) 
rested,  as  he  considered,  the  triumph  of  the  good,  and 
the  downfall  of  the  wicked.  He  travelled  on,  with  those 
untiring  limbs,  which  none  but  a  hunter  can  command ; 
and  never  did  he  stop  to  repose,  but  for  the  mere  pur- 
pose of  giving  to  himself  so  much  rest  as  might  enable 
him  to  resume  his  journey  with  the  same  energy  that  it 
had  been  begun.  He  ate,  he  slept,  but  to  travel  on- 
ward ;  and,  as  he  did  so,  there  was  but  the  same  thought 
engrossing  him  —  all  that  he  had  heard  when  he  lay 
concealed  in  the  king's  tent. 

Some  days  had  passed  since  he  had  listened  to  the 
conversation  of  Henry,  first  with  Lieman,  and  then  with 
the  Bishop  of  Hildesheim  ;  and  yet  Bernhard  was  still 
upon  the  road.  That  road,  at  last,  began  mounting  up 
amid  thick,  tangled  forest  trees,  to  the  top  of  a  high  hill, 
and  as  Bernhard  recognized  the  topmost  point  of  the 
hill,  his  heart  bounded  with  joy. 

"  Thank  God  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  I  am,  at  last,  within 
a  few  hours  of  the  end  of  my  journey.  When  I  reach 
the  top  of  that  hill,  I  can  see  a  deep  ravine  which  runs 
between  it  and  the  opposite  mountain  —  I  have  but  to 
descend  into  that  ravine,  and  then  to  climb  the  mountain 


THE  EVIL   DEED   AVENGED.  371 

on  the  other  side,  and  from  that  mountain  I  shall  see 
the  fortress  of  Erzegebirge,  either  invested  by  the  rustics, 
under  the  command  of  the  pilgrim,  or  captured  by  them. 
I  hope  the  latter  may  be  the  case.  O,  what  things  I 
have  to  tell  the  pilgrim !  "  cried  Bernhard,  his  constant 
thought,  for  the  last  few  days,  again  taking  possession 
of  his  mind.  "  "What  strange  tidings  for  him  !  and  then 
there  is  Duke  Godfrey!  It  is  strange  I  should  find, 
wherever  I  have  gone,  the  traces  of  him  and  his  troops 
having  preceded  me.  Perhaps  God,  in  his  mercy,  may 
permit  me  to  be  the  humble  instrument  of  saving  the 
life  of  so  good  a  man  from  the  dagger  of  the  infidel  Lie- 
man.  It  is  wonderful  that  I  should  have  been  able  to 
hear  the  particulars  of  so  foul  a  plot.  No  man  but  a 
forester,  vv'ho  has  been  habituated  to  remain  for  hours  in 
the  same  position,  watching  for  the  wild  beasts  of  the 
woods,  could  have  stood  unmoved,  as  I  did,  for  such  a 
length  of  time,  within  the  folds  of  the  king's  tent.  Ah  ! " 
thought  Bernhard  to  himself,  with  a  pardonable  vanity, 
"  if  a  spy  be  wanting,  in  a  good  cause,  there  is  no  man 
equal  to  a  practised  forester.  "VVe  can  dog  the  steps  of 
the  wicked  as  we  track  the  wolf  to  his  lair." 

As  Bernhard  thus  thought,  he  stopped  suddenly  in 
the  midst  of  the  rapid  pace  at  which  he  had  been  pro- 
ceeding, for  his  practised  eye  had  distinguished  the  glis- 
tening of  armor  amid  the  green  branches. 

"  Who  may  these  be  ?  "  said  Bernhard  ;  "  the  follow- 
ers of  Godfrey,  or  the  soldiers  of  the  king,  employed 
upon  some  maraxiding  expedition  ?  I  must  ascertain  be- 
fore I  permit  them  to  see  me." 

Thus  speaking,  Bernhard  darted  from  the  pathway 
behind  some  trees,  and  then  cautiously  looking  around, 
so  as  to  be  certain  that  there  was  no  one  watching  his 


372  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEEOR^ 

movements,  he  crept  upon  his  hands  and  knees  along  the 
earth,  until  he  obtained  a  distinct  view  of  the  persons 
whose  armor  he  had  remarked,  and  could,  unobserved, 
hear  their  conversation.  He  found  that  there  were  col- 
lected together  a  troop  of  about  twenty  archers,  and  that 
they  seemed  to  be  reposing  after  the  fatigue  of  a  march. 

"  I  wonder,"  said  one  of  the  unknown  soldiers,  "  what 
that  stranger  could  have  desired  to  impart  with  such 
secrecy  to  our  leader,  that  he  should  have  begged  for  a 
private  interview  with  him,  and  completely  alone." 

"  I  suspect,"  said  another  of  the  soldiers,  "  that  it 
must  have  been  a  message  from  the  king." 

"  A  message  from  the  king  ! "  remarked  a  third  | 
'nhat  is  impossible,  for  he  left  the  camp  greatly  dis- 
pleased with  his  majesty." 

"  And  therefore  the  king,"  said  a  fourth,  "  may  have 
sent  after  him  to  seek  a  reconciliation.  If  the  king-  have 
any  gratitude  in  his  heart  he  will  do  so,  as  no  man  ren- 
dered greater  service  in  the  battle  of  Langensalza  than 
our  valiant  commander." 

"It  is  very  probable,"  said  a  fifth  soldier,  "that  a 
reconciliation  is  sought  for,  because,  though  the  man  who 
is  now  with  him  does  not  hold  high  rank,  I  am  quite 
sure  I  have  seen  him  amongst  the  king's  personal  attend- 
ants. Besides,  he  wears  the  gilded  armor  of  one  of  the 
Worms'  Life  Guards,  his  majesty's  favorite  soldiers." 

To  this  entire  conversation  Bernhard  listened  with 
burning  impatience.  He  had  done  so,  in  the  hope  that 
some  name  might  be  mentioned,  which  might  guide  his 
conduct ;  but  the  last  words  uttered  were  so  applicable 
to  Lieman,  that  he  could  restrain  himself  no  longer,  but 
rushed  into  the  midst  of  the  soldiers.  In  an  instant 
twenty  swords  were  pointed  at  his  breast,  and  there  was 


THE  EVIL  DEED  AVENGED.  373 

the  demand  made  by  all  upon  him  to  declare  who  he 
was,  and  wherefore  he  thus  appeared  so  agitated  ? 

"  For  heaven's  sake,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  that  was  shrill 
with  anguish,  "  do  not  stop  to  ask  me  questions,  but  an- 
swer mine,  for  more  than  one  life  may  depend  upon  the 
delay  of  a  moment.     Of  whom  are  you  the  followers  ?  " 

"  We  are  the  followers  of  the  gallant  Godfrey,  Duke 
of  Lorraine,"  replied  one  of  the  soldiers. 

"  And  it  is  with  him  that  an  interview  has  been  sought 
by  a  messenger  of  the  king  ? "  asked  Bernhard. 

"It  is,"  answered  the  same  soldier. 

"■  Is  the  messenger  of  the  king  a  man  with  large,  black 
eyes,  of  a  pale  complexion,  of  tall  and  muscular  form  ?  " 
again  asked  Bernhard. 

"  He  is  —  you  describe  the  stranger  exactly,"  replied 
the  Lorraine  archer. 

"  O  heavens  !  where  are  they  ?  How  long  have  they 
been  together  ?  How  soon  may  we  come  up  with  them  ? " 
exclaimed  Bernhard,  his  voice  tremulous  with  agitation, 
and  his  cheeks,  from  excitement,  fired  with  the  heat  of 
passion  that  filled  his  breast. 

"  They  have  been  together  about  an  hour,"  said  the 
leader  of  the  troop,  who  now  gathered  around  Bernhard, 
and  sympathized  with  the  agitation  that  he  exhibited. 
"  They  passed  from  that  hill  down  into  the  ravine,  and 
wherever  they  are,  we  can  from  thence  perceive  them, 
and  in  a  few  moments  afterwards  come  up  with  them." 

"Thank  God,"  said  Bernhard,  with  deep  emotion. 
"  Men  —  soldiers  of  Godfrey  —  if  you  love  your  lord, 
seek  now,  with  me,  to  save  his  life,  for  the  man  who  is 
with  him  is  a  messenger  from  the  king,  and  has  followed 
with  the  intention  of  assassinating  your  brave  com- 
mander. Forward  —  then,  forward,  to  the  top  of  the 
32 


374         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROE. 

hill.  Prepare  your  bows,  as  I  have  mine,  and  if  you 
see  the  duke  in  any  danger,  slay  Lieman  —  for  it  is  the 
villain  Lieman,  who  has  come  to  murder  Godfrey." 

No  sooner  had  these  words  been  spoken,  than  all 
rushed,  at  their  best  speed,  to  the  brow  of  the  hill ;  and 
the  moment  they  did  so,  perceived  the  two,  of  whom 
they  were  in  search  —  the  Duke  Godfrey  and  Lieman. 
They  were  not  in  the  ravine ;  but  stood  on  a  projecting 
ledge  of  rock  on  the  opposite  mountain,  directly  on  a 
level  with  Bernhard  and  the  soldiers.  A  narrow,  but  an 
impassable  space  separated  Duke  Godfrey  from  his  friends. 
Modern  science  has  invented  the  means  of  constructing 
bridges  over  a  wider  space  than  that  which  there  divided 
Godfrey  and  Lieman  from  Bernhard  and  the  Lorraine 
archers  ;  but,  to  place  the  one  party  by  the  side  of  the 
other,  would  require  a  descent  on  one  side,  and  an  ascent 
on  the  other,  which  the  most  agile  could  not  hope  to  ac- 
complish in  less  than  half  an  hour.  Bernhard  saw,  at 
once,  that  unless  Godfrey  could  defend  himself  from 
Lieman,  no  human  aid  could  be  rendered  to  him,  and 
as  this  conviction  came  to  his  mind,  he  wrung  his  hands 
in  despair. 

Godfrey  and  Lieman,  when  seen  by  Bernhard,  were 
so  deeply  engaged  in  conversation  together,  that  neither 
had  remarked  they  were  observed  by  others.  Godfrey 
was  seated  on  the  trunk  of  a  fallen  tree ;  and  Lieman 
was  standing  by  his  side,  but  his  back  turned  to  the 
group  Avho  now  watched  him. 

"  The  duke  is  still  unharmed,"  said  Bernhard.  "  But 
how  are  we  to  warn  him  of  his  danger ;  for  alas  !  that  is 
all  we  can  do.  The  man  who  is  speaking  to  him  at  this 
moment,  I,  myself,  heard  promise  the  king  he  would  slay 
him.     What  is  to  be  done  ? " 


THE  EVIL  DEED  AVENGED.  375 

*I  know  not  any  thing  better,"  said  the  leader  of 
the  archers,  "than  to  shout  to  him  to  be  on  his  guard. 
If  he  be  so,  he  is  like  one  of  the  warriors  of  the  north, 
and  will  count  it  no  honor  to  kill  a  single  opponent. 
Besides  the  sight  of  so  many  of  his  followers  may  deter 
the  assassin  from  carrying  out  the  base  object  with  which 
he  has  sought  this  interview," 

"  Alas  !  I  know  nothing  more  feasible  than  what  you 
suggest,"  said  Bernhard.     "  Do  you  shout  then  to  him 

—  he  will  recognize  your  voice,  whereas,  if  I  spoke,  he 
might  not  heed  the  words  of  a  stranger." 

"  Holloa !  "  cried  the  follower  of  Godfrey,  raising  his 
voice  to  its  utmost  pitch  ;  "  holloa !  watch  the  movements 
of  the  man  beside  you  —  he  has  come  to  assassinate  you." 

As  these  words  were  uttered,  and  that  echo  repeated 
them,  and,  by. the  quick  repetition,  rendered  all  that  was 
said  confused,  Godfrey  and  Lieman  looked  across  the 
ravine,  and  perceived,  for  the  first  time,  so  many  persons 
watching  them. 

Godfrey,  unconscious  of  the  slightest  evil  impending 
over  him,  did  not  rightly,  nor  clearly,  apprehend  the 
signification  of  the  words  that  were  spoken,  and,  starting 
up  from  his  seat,  advanced  towards  the  edge  of  the  rock, 
with  the  intention  of  calling  to  his  men  to  repeat  what 
they  had  said.  Such  was  not  the  case  with  Lieman ; 
the  fell  design  he  had  in  his  heart  rendered  him  suspi- 
cious, and  hence,  the  moment  that  he  heard  these  words 

—  saw  the  soldiers  —  and  recognized  Bernhard,  he  per- 
ceived that  the  only  time  he  could  ever  have  a  chance 
of  slaying  Godfrey  was  then ;  and  that  even  his  own 
life  now  depended  upon  the  execution  of  the  project,  for 
Godfrey,  he  knew,  would  kill  him  if  his  suspicions  were 
once  aroused.     Hence,  it  was,  that  the  moment  he  saw 


376         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

the  back  of  Godfrey  turned  towards  him  he  drew  his 
dagger,  plunged  it  into  the  back  of  the  duke,  and,  amid 
a  shout  of  horror  from  those  who  witnessed  the  bloody 
deed,  pushed  the  body  of  the  brave  duke  over  the  edge 
of  the  rock  into  the  ravine  beneath,  and,  in  so  doing, 
inflicted  a  second  death  upon  his  victim. 

"  Shoot  the  murderer  where  he  stands ! "  exclJ^ed  the 
leader  of  the  archers ;  "  if  we  could  not  save  the  life  of 
Godfrey,  let  us,  at  least,  avenge  it." 

At  the  same  moment,  twenty  arrows  flew  in  a  straight 
line  over  the  ravine,  all  directed  against  the  person  of 
Lieman  —  and,  had  he  not  been  a  practised  soldier,  he 
must,  on  the  instant,  have  fallen,  transpierced  with 
wounds ;  but  he  anticipated  the  movement  by  dropping 
upon  one  knee,  and  bringing  round  his  shield,  so  as  to 
present  it  and  the  crest  of  his  helmet  alone  as  the  only 
object  to  be  aimed  at. 

The  sharp  ring  of  six  arrow  heads  on  Lieman's  shield 
was  heard,  and  the  Avhizzing  sound  of  others,  as  they 
flew  over  and  around  him,  but  he  stood  up  in  the  midst 
of  them  unharmed ;  and,  shaking  his  sword  in  derision 
at  the  archers,  sought,  by  a  single  bound,  to  clear  him- 
self from  the  vacant  ledge  of  the  rock,  and  hide  himself 
beneath  the  deep-set  trees  behind  him.  That  bound 
was  made ;  and,  as  he  reached  the  first  tree,  he  turned 
his  face  sideways  from  the  group  that  gazed  upon  him, 
but  from  that  spot  he  never  again  stirred  ;  for,  at  that 
instant,  there  came  flying,  with  the  speed  of  lightning, 
and  in  a  straight  line  at  him,  a  single  arrow,  which, 
striking  him  through  both  cheeks,  nailed  him  to  the 
tree  by  the  side  of  which  he  stood  —  and  there  pene- 
trating a  couple  of  inches  into  the  stem,  trembled  as  it 
held  him,  from  the  force  with  which  it  had  been  dis- 
charged. 


THE  UNEXPECTED   RECOGNITION.  377 

A  shout  of  joy  rung  in  the  ears  of  Lieman,  as  that 
"wondrous  arraw  shot  fastened  him,  writhing  in  agony, 
to  the  tree.  He  was  seen,  for  a  moment,  to  fling  his 
arms  and  sword  about,  as  if  he  were  fighting  against  a 
foe  —  then,  as  a  flight  of  arrows  struck  him,  the  sword 
dropped  from  his  grasp  —  he  beat  the  air  with  his  hands 
—  and  ^en,  drawing  up  his  feet  from  the  ground,  he 
hung,  by  a  single  arrow,  to  the  tree  —  every  limb  was 
seen  to  shake  and  tremble,  and  then  he  remained  as  qui- 
escent—  as  if  he  were  dead. 

He  was  dead;  and  when  the  soldiers  of  the  duke 
climbed  up  to  the  place  in  which  he  hung,  half  an  hour 
afterwards,  they  were  horrified  to  see  what  intense  agony 
was  portrayed  in  his  distorted  countenance  ;  and  they 
wondered  not  a  little  to  find  inscribed,  upon  the  arrow 
that  had  slain  him,  a  word  —  the  signification  of  which 
they  could  not  comprehend  —  that  word  was  —  Megin- 
herr! 


CHAPTEE,    XXXI. 

THE  UNEXPECTED   RECOGNITION. 

"  I  HAVE  fulfilled  my  vow,"  said  Bernhard,  "  but  I 
have  not  saved  the  life  of  Godfrey.  Man  cannot  do  all 
that  he  desires,  but  only  so  much  as  it  is  the  will  of 
heaven  he  should  accomplish." 

As  Bernhard  spoke  these  words  he  reached  the  crest  of 
the  mountain,  from  which  the  fortress  of  Erzegebirge, 
and  the  hamlet  at  its  base,  were  distinguishable. 

"The  battle,  I  see,"  observed  Bernhard,  "is  still 
32* 


378  THE  POPE   AND   THE   EMPEROK. 

raging,  but  the  valiant  pilgrim,  I  perceive,  has  con- 
trived the  means  by  which  it  must  soon  be  brought  to  a 
close." 

Whilst  Bernhard  was  expressing,  aloud,  his  admira- 
tion of  the  strategic  skill  of  the  pilgrim,  circumstances 
occurred  which  fully  justified  his  applause. 

The  sounds  of  battle  were  heard  —  the  shouts  of  war- 
riors, commingled  with  the  shrieks  of  the  wounded, 
reached  his  ears,  as  he  advanced  towards  the  fortress, 
which  he  could  perceive  had  foes  both  from  the  hamlet 
below  and  from  a  fortress  higher  placed  than  itself,  to 
contend  against.  During  his  absence,  he  remarked  that 
a  projecting  pinnacle  of  the  mountain  on  which  Erzege- 
birge  was  built  had  been  seized  upon  by  the  pilgrim, 
and  there,  with  much  difficulty,  a  tower  had  been  erected, 
capable  of  containing  twelve  hundred  soldiers.  Thia 
fortress  had  been  filled  with  various  machines  of  war, 
and  commanding,  as  -it  did,  the  fortifications  of  the  for- 
tress beneath,  there  were  now  pouring  from  it,  upon  the 
fortress  walls,  enormous  piles  of  wood,  pointed  at  the 
top  with  iron,  and  with  these,  huge  stones,  which  man- 
gled and  crushed  to  death  all  upon  whom  they  fell ', 
whilst,  at  the  same  moment,  flights  of  arrows  came  from 
the  rustics  beneath,  and  struck  those  upon  the  walls  who 
had  escaped  the  dreadful  assaults  from  above. 

The  soldiers  of  the  garrison,  who,  under  the  command 
of  Egen,  had  been  harassed  by  repeated  attacks,  now 
declared  to  him  they  were  able  to  resist  no  longer ;  that, 
penned  up  by  the  rustics,  they  could  no  longer,  with 
safety,  foi-age  abroad  ;  for  the  foes  above  could,  by  watch- 
ing all  their  movements,  give  warning  to  those  in  the 
land  around  as  to  the  time  they  were  about  to  issue  forth 
—  and  that,  destitute  of  food,  they  must  yield  the  for- 


THE  UNEXPECTED   RECOGNITION.  379 

tress,  even  If  they  could  resist  —  wliicli  they  declared  to 
be  impossible  —  the  attack  from  the  tower. 

When  Bernhard  gained  access  to  the  presence  of  the 
pilgrim,  he  found  that  the  soldiers  from  the  fortress  were 
with  him,  desiring  to  know  upon  what  conditions  they 
might  yield  up  the  place. 

"  Your  bravery  as  soldiers,"  replied  the  pilgrim,  "  in- 
duces me  to  forgive  the  cruelties  you  have  practised  upon 
those  who  were  unable  to  resist  you.  I  rejoice  that  you 
offer  to  surrender  to-day,  rather  than  to-morroAV,  for  it 
saves  me  the  necessity  of  employing  against  you  a  weapon 
of  warfare,  the  knowledge  of  which  I  gained  in  the 
East,  and  which  if  I  did  use,  you  would  be  as  com- 
pletely destroyed  by  it,  as  if  the  heavens  opened  and 
rained  down  fire  upon  your  heads.  I  have  forborne  to 
employ  it  to-day,  not  for  your  sakes,  but  for  the  sake  of 
her  you  hold  a  prisoner.  The  conditions  on  which  I  am 
willing  to  spare  the  life  of  every  soldier,  are,  that  the 
fortress,  with  all  it  contains,  be  yielded  up  to  me  ;  that 
the  lady  and  her  attendant  be  at  once  brought,  safe  and 
unharmed,  to  the  tower ;  and  that  your  commander, 
Egen,  be  conducted  to  me  in  chains  —  not  that  I  intend 
to  take  his  life  —  but  to  punish  him  as  a  criminal,  and 
as  a  perjurer  —  but  without  shedding  his  vile  blood. 
As  to  the  soldiers,  they  shall  be  treated  as  brave  men  in 
misfortune  should  be  dealt  with  —  and  only  detained  as 
prisoners  until  the  opportunity  is  afforded  of  exchanging 
them  for  Duke  Magnus,. ^who  was  made  a  prisoner  when 
leading  on  an  attack  against  this  fortress.  These  are  the 
conditions  I  name,  and  I  can  listen  to  no  other." 

The  terms  of  this  surrender'  were  readily,  even  joy- 
fully, accepted  by  the  garrison.  Seventy  Sv,\abian  soldiers 
were  transferred  to  the  tower,  to  be  detained  there  as 


380  THE  POPE   AND   THE   EMPEROE. 

hostages  for  tlie  fair  treatment  and  the  speedy  release  of 
Duke  Magnus ;  whilst  Egen,  their  commander,  was 
thrust,  heavily  laden  with  chains,  down  into  the  lowest 
dungeon  of  the  fortress,  there  to  await  the  doom  that 
might  be  passed  on  him  by  his  captors. 

Whilst  these  conditions  were  carrying  into  operation, 
the  pilgrim  and  Bernhard  were  engaged  in  deep  and 
serious  consultation  with  each  other ;  for  Bernhard  was 
disclosing,  word  for  word,  the  conversations  he  had  heard, 
and  the  observations  he  had  himself  made. 

."  What  you  now  tell  me,"  said  the  pilgrim,  "  fills  my 
heart  with  grief.  I  think  not  of  myself,  although,  in 
what  you  hint,  and  what  you  surmise,  and  what  you 
suspect,  I  fear  to  find  that  worse  than  I  had  ever  antici- 
pated has  beflillen  my  child.  This,  however,  is  my  own 
wound,  and  with  my  own  hand  I  shall  probe  it.  What- 
ever be  my  grief,  I  am  sure  to  find  it  superabound  with 
the  mercy  of  God.  For  the  present,  I  have  other  and 
greater  things  to  think  of.  My  true  and  faithful  Bern- 
hard,  even  by  you  —  so  humble  an  instrument  as  your- 
self, this  projected  schism  of  the  king  may  be  nipped  in 
the  bud.  As  you  have  told  to  me  what  the  king  has 
said,  so  tell  it  to  His  Holiness  the  Pope.  This  ring  will 
obtain  you  instant  admission  to  the  presence  of  the  hum- 
ble Hildebrand.  Here,  too,  is  gold,  to  expedite  you  on 
your  road.  Take  the  most  fleet  horse  you  can  procure, 
and  lose  not  a  moment  in  speeding  to  Rome.  Remember 
that  every  hour  that  brings  you  nearer  to  the  Pope^ 
lessens,  by  an  hour,  the  reign  of  heresy ;  for  he  wall 
strike  it  down  —  ay,  and  tread  it  out  with  his  own  naked 
feet,  even  though  hell  should,  with  all  its  flames,  rise 
up  to  terrify  him  and  try  to  scorch  his  sacred  limbs. 
Away,  then,  away  —  the  cause  in  which  you  are  now 


THE  UNEXPECTED   EECOGNITION.  381 

engaged  is  not  yours  nor  mine  —  it  is  the  cause  of  God. 
Away  then  to  Hildebrand.  See  him,  and  then  —  thank 
heaven  that  you  have  lived  !  " 

Bernhard  iiurried  from  the  presence  of  the  pilgrim 
when  these  words  had  been  spoken  to  him.  He  uttered 
not  a  syUable  in  departing.  He  seemed  to  be  in  such 
haste  to  be  gone,  that  he  would  not,  as  it  appeared,  lose 
time  even  in  saying  a  simple  farcAvell. 

The  pilgrim  seemed  to  be  animated  with  the  same 
anxious  desire  as  Bernhard.  He  watched  the  forester  as 
he  rode  forth,  and  he  followed  his  rapid  movements  with 
the  longing  wish  that  the  rider  could  speed  fast  as  his 
own  thoughts  ;  and  he  felt,  whilst  gazing  upon  this  courier 
to  Rome,  that  the  intensity  of  his  own  gaze  was  a  spur 
in  the  side  of  the  steed  which  was  bearing  Bernhard 
from  his  sight. 

It  was  not  until  Bernhard  had  disappeared,  that  the 
pilgrim  turned  round,  and  found  that  Gretchen  was  in 
the  same  room  with  him,  and  seemed  to  be  waiting  there 
until  he  should  deem  it  convenient  to  address  her. 

"  What  can  I  do  to  serve  you,  maiden  ?  "  inquired 
the  pilgrim. 

"  I  have  waited.  Sir  Pilgrim,  upon  you,"  replied 
Gretchen,  "  by  the  desire  of  my  mistress,  to  say  that 
she  wishes  earnestly  to  see  a  priest,  as  the  martyred 
Bishop  of  Osnabruck  confided  a  sacred  charge  to  her, 
which  it  is  necessary  for  her  to  dispose  of,  before  she 
can  claim  the  happiness  of  personally  thanking  you  for 
the  great  benefit  you  have  conferred  upon  her." 

"  A  priest  from  the  hamlet  shall  be  with  her  in  a  few 
minutes,"  observed  the  pilgrim  ;  "  even  before  I  knew 
that  she  had  a  special  commission  confided  to  her,  I  de- 
sired that  a  clergyman  should  come  here,  as  I  supposed. 


382         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

since  those  infidels  had  so  long  held  you  captive,  it  would 
be  as  grateful  to  you  as  to  your  mistress  to  be  restored 
to  the  consolations  which  religion  can  aflford  to  you." 

Gretchen  curtesied  lowly,  but  made  no  reply. 

*'  Tell  your  mistress,"  continued  the  pilgrim,  "  that 
as  soon  as  she  has  seen  the  priest,  I  wish  to  speak  to 
her  ;  for  I  have  to  tell  her  tidings  that  will  deeply  in- 
terest her.  Meanwhile,  I  may  ask  you  a  question,  which 
I  am  sure  you  will  answer  me  candidly.  In  the  midst 
of  all  the  evils  that  have  lately  afflicted  her,  does  your 
mistress  ever  speak  of  any  one  allied  to  her  by  blood  ?  " 

"  Of  none,"  answered  Gretchen,  "  have  I  ever  heard 
her  speak  but  of  her  parents." 

"  Of  her  parents  !  "  said  the  pilgrim,  somewhat  sur- 
prised.     "  Instead  of  parents,  you  surely  mean  parent." 

"  Yes,  you  are  right,"  said  Gretchen,  "  it  is  but  of 
one  of  them,  that  she  is  hourly  speaking." 

"  And  that  one  is "  inquired   the   pilgrim,  his 

utterance  nearly  choked  with  emotion. 

"  Her  mother,"  answered  Gretchen. 

"  No,  no,  no,  girl  —  you  are  -wrong ;  it  is  of  her 
father,"  vehemently  asserted  the  pilgrim. 

"  Her  father  !  "  said  Gretchen,  in  an  astonishment 
almost  equal  to  the  pilgrim's.  "  Not  at  all.  Now  you 
remind  me  of  it,  she  seldom  or  ever  speaks  of  her  father, 
whilst  scarcely  an  hour  passes  that  she  is  not  thinking 
or  speaking  of  her  mother." 

The  pilgrim  sat  down,  pale  and  breathless,  when  he 
heard  these  words  of  the  Saxon  maiden. 

For  a  few  moments  the  old  man  was  utterly  speech- 
less, and,  when  he  had  in  some  degree  recovered  from 
the  surprise  into  which  Gretchen's  information  had  cast 
him,  he  said  to  her  : 


,  THE  UNEXPECTED  RECOGNITION.  383 

"  Go,  maiden,  tell  to  your  mistress  what  I  have  said 
to  you,  and  add,  that  I  shall  wait  here  until  it  is  her 
pleasure  to  come  to  me." 

Gretchen  quitted  the  room,  pitying,  without  being 
able  to  comprehend  the  nature  of  the  grief  she  saw  their 
brave  deliverer  suffering. 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  the  pilgrim,  when  he  found  that 
he  was  alone,  and  could,  unobserved,  abandon  himself 
to  his  reflections,  "  what  can  be  the  meaning  of  all  this  ? 
For  years  upon  years  I  have  had  but  one  grief,  one  care, 
one  thought  —  my  child  —  my  only  child  —  my  child, 
pure,  loving,  innocent,  beautiful  — -  a  flower  of  heaven 
permitted  to  bloom  upon  this  earth.  I  have  sought  for 
her,  toiled  for  her,  and  now,  fought  for  her  ;  and  yet, 
when  1  ask  of  Avhom  has  she  been  thinking  all  this  time, 
I  am  told  that  it  is  not  of  me  ;  but  that  it  is  of  one,  of 
whom,  as  an  infant,  she  cannot  have  the  slightest  :spcollec- 
tion.  And  this  I  hear  of  hei*,  who,  next  to  heaven, 
had  no  other  thought  but  of  me,  until 

"  O,  villain  I  villain  !  "  cried  the  old  man,  starting 
up,  and  stamping  on  the  floor,  as  if  some  noxious  reptile 
lay  beneath  his  foot.  "  O,  villain !  hypocrite !  liar !  double- 
dealer.  He  has  persuaded  her  that  I  am  long  since  dead ! 
She  knows  not  that  I  have  searched  for  her  and  for  him 
in  every  land  in  Europe  !  that  I  have  endeavored  every 
where  to  track  him  out,  and  never,  until  this  day  — 
even  if  this  day  Bernhard  be  correct  —  with  the  slight- 
est semblance  of  success. 

"  It  would  then  but  increase  her  grief  to  think  over- 
much of  her  father,  of  whom  she  must  feel  fully  per- 
suaded, that,  if  living,  Henry  would  not  have  dared  — 
no,  not  for  his  crown  and  life  —  to  have  laid  hands  upon 
her.     She  seeks  to  forget  that  father  whose  sword' was 


384  THE  POPE  AND  THE  ElIPEROR. 

the  fear  of  every  villain  ;  and  she  tries  to  wile  away  her 
time,  and,  if  possible,  to  forget  her  sorrow,  by  conjuring 
up  images  of  a  mother  that  she  has  never  known.  Poor 
child  —  poor  child  !  How  grossly  must  she  have  been 
deceived  —  how  completely  must  she  have  been  deluded, 
when  she  could  not  recognize  me  the  day  I  tried  to  res- 
cue her  from  this  villain,  Egen,  in  Aschaffenburg  ! 

"  Ah  !  I  see  it  all  now  —  she  is  certain  that  the  father 
who  would  have  protected  her,  is  long  since  dead,  and, 
therefore,  her  tender  heart  shrinks  from  dwelling  upon 
him,  who  was  once  recognized  by  the  church  and  the 
people  as  the  champion  of  the  innocent  and  the  defender 
of  the  oppressed. 

"  Poor  child  —  poor  child  !  I  must  break,  by  de- 
grees, the  joyful  intelligence  to  her,  that  the  father  she 
loves  so  much  is  living  —  that  it  is  to  him  she  is  now 
indebted  for  her  freedom." 

Gretchen  here  entered  the  room,  and  said  — 

*'  My  mistress  desires  me  to  say  that  she  is  now  anxious 
to  see  you,  if  you  are  prepared  to  receive  her." 

"  Conduct  her  hither,"  answered  the  pilgrim,  in  a 
voice  so  tremulous  with  emotion  that  the  purport  of  the 
pilgrim's  speech  was  more  distinctly  comprehended  by 
Gretchen  than  his  words  were  clearly  heard. 

"  At  last  —  at  last  —  at  last,  I  am  to  behold  her," 
mentally  said  the  pilgrim  ;  *'  but  I  must  not  let  her  look 
upon  my  face,  until  I  have  intimated  to  her  that  the 
father  she  loved  is  not  dead,  but  still  lives  !  " 

As  the  pilgrim  thus  spoke,  ho  drew  his  hood  over  his 
head,  so  as  to  completely  conceal  his  features  beneath  its 
ample  folds  ;  and,  at  the  same  time,  Beatrice,  wearing  a 
long,  thick,  black  veil,  over  her  dark  dress,  as  a  novice, 
which  she  still  retained,  was  conducted  into  the  apart- 
ment by  Gretchen. 


THE  UNEXPECTED   EECOGNITION.  385 

"  Maiden,"  said  the  pilgrim,  turning  to  Gretchen,  and 
speaking  to  her  in  a  voice  husky  Avith  emotion,  "  I  must 
ask  of  you  to  leave  your  mistress  and  me  alone  ;  for  I 
have  that  to  say  to  her  to  which  no  third  person  can  be 
a  listener." 

"  Go,"  added  Beatrice,  "  for  I  feel  that,  with  this  good 
old  man,  heaven  has  given  to  me  a  protector  —  one  who 
has  acted  to  me  as  —  as  a  father." 

The  old  pilgrim  was  deeply  shaken  by  the  first  sweet 
accents  of  that  gentle  voice  ;  but,  when  he  heard  him- 
self spoken  of  —  as  a  father  —  he  sank  back  in  his  chair ; 
and,  still  more  cautiously  than  he  had  yet  done,  muffling 
up  his  face  in  his  hood,  he  burst  into  tears. 

Gretchen  hurried  out  of  the  room. 

Beatrice  saw  that  the  pilgrim  was  unable  to  speak ; 
and  kneeling  down  by  his  side,  she  caught  hold  of  his 
right  hand,  and,  clasping  it  between  both  her  own,  she 
said  — 

"  Forgive  me.  Sir  Pilgrim,  if  I  presume  to  kiss  this 
hand  which  has  been  my  deliverer  —  this  hand  that  has 
rescued  me  from  bondage  —  this  hand  that  has  freed  the 
weak  and  the  innocent  from  the  grasp  of  the  cruel  and 
the  sinful  —  this  hand " 

Beatrice  stopped,  confused ;  for  she  saw  upon  the 
forefinger  of  the  pilgrim's  right  hand  a  small,  thin,  gold 
ring  —  having  in  the  centre  a  minute  emerald  stone,  on 
which  were  engraven  a  cross  and  a  sword,  —  the  cross 
appearing  to  be  propped  up  by  the  point  of  the  sword. 

"  Ah  !  what  can  this  mean  ?  "  said  Beatrice.  "  I  pray 
you,  Sir  Pilgrim,  to  explain  to  me  how  you  came  to 
wear  such  a  ring  as  this  ;  for  I  have  been  told  that  such 
was  a  gift  from  the  Pope  —  that  it  and  another  were 
given  by  his  holiness  to  one  brave  man  and  to  his  daugh- 
33 


386  THE  POPE  AND   THE  EMPEROE. 

ter,  as  special  marks  of  gratitude,  from  Gregory  VI.,  for 
the  courage  displayed  by  that  man  —  a  warrior  —  in 
defence  of  the  church." 

"  And  do  you  not,  my  child,"  asked  the  pilgrim,  "  wear 
a  ring  like  to  that  ?  " 

"  No,  Sir  Pilgrim,"  replied  Beatrice,  ''  for  I  have  not 
the  right  to  do  so." 

"  Not  the  right  ?  "  said  the  pilgrim,  astonished  at 
these  words.     "  And  wherefore  ?  " 

"  Because,"  answered  Beatrice,  "  I  am  not  the  daugh- 
ter of  the  Lord  of  Viterbo." 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  exclaimed  the  Pilgrim.  *'  What 
do  I  hear  ?  What  stJ-ange  delusion  is  this  ?  The  voice 
is  the  same  !     Let  me  look  upon  your  face." 

Beatrice  raised  her  veil,  and  the  old  man  saw,  kneel- 
ing before  him,  as  he  fancied,  the  same  creature,  in  all 
her  maiden  beauty  and  exquisite  loveliness,  that  he  had 
looked  upon,  with  all  the  admiration  of  a  father,  twenty 
years  previously.  The  features  were  the  same  —  the 
voice  the  same  —  and  yet  there  was  a  difference  —  an 
imperceptible  difference  —  but  he  could  not  define  what 
it  was  —  between  that  face  and  the  face  he  had  thought 
upon  so  long.  Whatever  it  was,  it  made  him  pause, 
and  say  — 

"  Then,  if  you  are  not  the  daughter  of  the  Lord  of 
Viterbo,  of  whom  are  you  the  daughter  ?  " 

"  I  am,"  replied  Beatrice,  "  the  daughter  of  his 
daughter  —  for  it  is  upon  my  mother's  hand  I  have  seen 
the  same  description  of  ring  you  wear." 

"  O,  God  !  my  God  !  "  said  the  pilgrim,  clasping  his 
hands  together.  "  Thy  power  is  grc  at !  and  thy  mercies 
infinite  !  I  pine  for  one  blessing,  and  thou  grantest  to 
me  greater  than  I  hoped  for.     I  was  seeking  for  one 


THE  UNEXPECTED  RECOGNITION.  387 

child,  and  thou  givest  me  two.  Thanks  and  praise  be 
thine,  now  and  forevermore. 

"  O,"  he  exclaimed,  "  I  see  it  all  now  —  I  have  been 
thinking  of  my  child  as  if  she  must  continue  to  be  as 
young  as  when  I  last  saw  her.  I  perceived  that  I  was 
growing  old  myself,  but  it  never  occurred  to  me  that  she 
must  be  doing  the  same  —  and  when  I  meet  her  child 
I  fancy  it  must  be  herself.  O,  the  foolish  heart  of  a 
father,  which  makes  him  fancy  that  his  childi-en  never 
can  be  stricken  with  age,  and  that  youth  and  beauty 
must  remain  with  them  forever.  Ah  !  the  folly  of  par- 
ents," said  the  old  man,  smiling  through  his  tears. 

**  Then,  you  are,"  continued  the  pilgrim,  taking  the 
hand  of  Beatrice,  and  pressing  it  to  his  lips,  "  the 
daughter  of  Bianca." 

"  I  am,"  replied  Beatrice,  surprised  to  hear  her 
mother's  name  pronounced  by  the  lips  of  a  stranger. 

*'  And  your  name  is "  said  the  old  man,  gazing 

with  rapture  at  the  young  girl  by  his  side. 

*'  Is  Beatrice,"  answered  the  maiden,  who  felt,  she 
knew  not  wherefore,  agitated  by  the  manner  and  the 
words  of  the  pilgrim. 

"  And  what  do  you  recollect  to  hear  your  mother  say 
of  her  father  —  that  he  was  living,  or  dead  ?  "  anxiously 
asked  the  pilgrim. 

"  That  he  was  slain  in  battle,  fighting  against  the  en- 
emies of  the  Pope,"  answered  Beatrice. 

"  And  do  you  remember  who  it  was  she  said  told  her 
that  her  father  was  dead  ? "  inquired  the  pilgrim. 

"  I  am  not  sure,"  said  Beatrice ;  "  but  I  think  she 
stated  that  she  had  learned  that  Hict  upon  the  assurance 
of  my  father." 


388         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

The  pilgrim  started  when  he  heard  this  ;  then  mut- 
tered, so  as  not  to  be  overheard  by  Beatrice  — 

"  It  is  as  I  suspected  —  false  —  false  — false  in  every 
"word  and  deed." 

A  silence  of  some  minutes  then  ensued.  The  pilgrim 
•was  considering  what  course  he  should  pursue.  At 
length  the  silence  was  broken  by  him. 

"  Where,"  he  asked,  "  is  now  your  mother  ?  " 

"Alas!  I  know  not  for  certain,"  Beatrice  replied; 
"but  I  hope  and  trust  under  the  protection  of  the  Em- 
press Agnes,  and  Queen  Bertha,  who  are,  however,  as 
helpless  as  the  meanest  of  their  subjects  in  preventing 
the  iniquities  of  the  king.  Of  my  mother,  I  have  never 
heard  directly  since  the  day  I  was  torn  from  Aschaffen- 
burg." 

"  Then  we  must  both  seek  out  thy  mother,"  observed 
the  pilgrim.  "  Let  me  now  tell  thee,  for  it  will  rejoice 
thee  to  hear  it,  thy  mother  was  misinformed  when  she 
was  told  that  her  fiither  was  slain  in  battle.  Her  father 
is  now  living  —  her  father  has  been  engaged  for  years  in 
seeking  for  her  —  her  father,  in  that  search,  mistook  her 
child  for  herself  —  her  father  rescued  her  child  from  the 
hands  of  the  enemy  twice  —  her  father  —  it  is  not  the 
first  time  that  thou  hast  seen  him,  Beatrice,"  added  the 
pilgrim,  casting  back  his  hood,  "  is  now  before  thee  — 
now  clasps  his  arms  around  thee  —  now  kisses,  and  now 
blesses  thee  —  his  grandchild." 

Beatrice  at  once  recognized  the  pilgrim,  who,  in  the 
hamlet  of  AschafFenburg,  had  rescued  her,  for  a  moment, 
from  the  hands  of  the  Worms'  soldiers,  and  that  she  had 
seen,  as  she  fancied,  stricken  dead  at  her  feet. 

"  O,  this,"  she  said,  "  dearest  grandfather,  is  a  hap- 


THE  UNEXPECTED  EECOGNITION.  389 

plness  which  I  never  dreamed  I  should  be  allowed  to  en- 
joy on  this  earth  !  Ah !  me !  "  she  sighed,  "  why  is  it 
that  I  feel,  because  you  are  the  father  of  her  I  most  love 
of  all  human  beings,  more  consolation,  more  joy,  more 
assurance  of  safety,  whilst  I  hold  your  hand  clasped  in 
mine,  than  I  have  ever  done,  since  I  was  a  child,  when, 
in  the  society  of  my  own  father  ?  " 

The  short  gleam  of  happiness,  which,  for  a  moment, 
had  warmed  the  heart  of  the  pilgrim,  was,  on  the  in- 
stant, overclouded  by  this  question,  asked,  in  her  uncon- 
scious innocence,  by  Beatrice.  Instead  of  giving  to  it  a 
direct  answer,  the  pilgrim  started  from  the  side  of  his 
grandchiW,  and  walked  up  and  down  the  apartment  in  a 
state  of  great  agitation.  He  recovered  from  his  emotion, 
to  seat  himself  again  by  her  side,  and  to  say,  whilst  his 
aged  hand  rested  in  fdnd  affection  upon  her  head, 

"  Is  your  father  very  kind  to  you  ?  " 

"  Kind  to  me,  he  has  always  been,"  said  Beatrice ; 
**  but  I  cannot  affirm  that  he  is  fond  of  me.  There  is 
something  about  him  which  I  do  not  understand,  and 
that,  in  my  solitude,  has  appeared,  the  more  I  have 
thought  of  it,  the  more  incomprehensible.  Perchance 
you,  grandfather,  can  explain  it  to  me." 

"  I  know  not  to  what  you  particularly  refer,"  said  the 
pilgrim. 

"  How  comes  it,"  said  Beatrice,  "  that  my  father 
should  be  a  man  of  immense  wealth,  and  yet  not  of  any 
particular  rank  ;  for  even  I  cannot  tell  whether  he  be 
noble  or  burgher  :  he  has  too  much  wealth  for  the  latter, 
and  he  does  not  command  the  military  retainers  of  the 
former.  And  then,  again,  wherefore  is  it  that  he  should 
have  three  distinct  names." 


390         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROE. 

"  Three  names,"  said  the  pilgrim  —  "I  do  not,  my 
dearest  child,  comprehend  you." 

"  Yes  —  it  is  so  —  I  remember  my  mother  telling  me 

—  it  was  the  very  last  conversation  we  ever  had  together 

—  that  he  wooed  her  as  Eberhard  —  that  when  I  was 
born,  at  the  Lago  Maggiore,  he  was  called  Manfred  — 
whilst,  in  Aschaffenburg,  he  was  never  known  by  any 
other  designation  than  that  of  Ruebert.  You  have 
never  changed  your  name,  grandfather.  You  were  the 
Lord  of  Viterbo  in  your  youth  —  you  are  the  Lord  of 
Viterbo  in  your  old  age.  There  has  been  no  alteration 
with  you.  Why  should  there  be  any  with  my  father  ? 
I  pray  you  explain  this  to  me  —  but  —  alas  ¥  my  dear- 
est grandsire,  you  are  pale  —  deadly  pale  —  alas  !  alas  ! 
you  are  very  ill." 

"It  will  pass  —  it  will  pass,  my  child,"  said  the  pil- 
grim, struggling  with  the  passions  that  were  contending 
in  his  heart.  "  Your  questions,  I  must  own  to  you,  ex- 
cite many  painful  feelings  —  the  more  painful,  because  I 
cannot  give  them  an  explicit  answer.  Be  content  with 
this,  that  I  shall  seek  the  solution  of  them  ;  but  I  can- 
not hope  for  a  clew  to  them,  until  I  have  seen  and 
spoken  with  the  long  lost  Bianca.  You  shall,  if  she  be 
living,  soon  speak  with  her,  and  by  your  lips  shall  be 
conveyed  to  her  the  joyful  intelligence,  that  the  parent 
she  has  deemed  to  be  so  long  dead,  twice  placed  his  life 
in  peril  to  save  her  child  from  a  doom  worse  than  death. 

Beatrice  could  not  speak ;  but  a  thousand  kisses, 
showered  upon  the  lips  and  cheeks  of  her  grandfather, 
exjoresscd,  at  the  same  time,  her  joy  and  her  gratitude. 

The  old  man  smiled  at  the  child-like  fervency  of  her 
affection,  and  there  was  both    sadness    and  joy  in   his 


THE  UNEXPECTED   RECOGNITION.  391 

breast,  when  he  thought  how  hke  this  lovely  creature 
was  to  her  mother,  when,  at  the  same  age,  she  so  em- 
braced him,  in  his  strong  castle  at  Viterbo.  The  smile, 
however,  soon  changed  into  a  frown,  w^hen  he  thought 
hov/  that  mother  had  been,  in  his  absence,  induced  to 
quit  the  shelter  which  that  castle  could  have  afforded 
her.  The  frown,  however,  was  speedily  dispersed  by  the 
next  observation  made  by  Beatrice. 

'"^See,  grandfather,"  said  Beatrice,  "there  are  fires  on 
the  distant  hill-tops  —  see  —  see  —  as  quick  as  I  speak 
they  seem  to  be  hghting  up  —  lo !  there  were  but  two  a 
moment  since,  and  now  there  are  twenty —  see  !  the  red 
blaze  of  "^re  appears  to  be  coming  nearer  —  and  afar,  are 
the  sparkles  as  of  bright  stars.  What  a  strange  sight  is 
this  — What  can  it  mean  ?  " 

"  It  means,"  said  the  pilgrim,  jumping  up  from  his 
seat,  and  pacing  the  room  with  all  the  elasticity  and 
vi<^or  of  a  youthful  soldier,  "  it  means  that  great  deeds 
are  about  to  be  done.  It  is  the  signal  that  the  downfall  of 
a  tyrant  is  fast  approaching  —  it  declares  that  all  Saxon- 
land  is  again  in  insurrection.  It  is  the  signal  for  battle 
—  it  is  the  signal  for  victory.  To  arms  —  to  arms," 
shouted  the  old  man,  as  he  rushed  from  the  chamber. 
«'  I  shall  conduct  you,  Beatrice,  in  triumph  to  the  pres- 
ence of  your  mother.  To  arms  —  men  of  Saxony,  for 
war  is  now  proclaimed,  by  an  oppressed  nation,  against  a 
profligate  tyrant." 


392  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROE. 

CHAPTER    XXXII. 

THE  RE-UNION. 

About  two  months  had  elapsed  since  the  occurrence 
of  the  events  described  in  the  preceding  chapter. 

The  fortress  of  Magdeburg,  placed  upon  an  island 
formed  by  the  waters  of  the  Elbe,  and,  at  one  time,  the 
stronghold  of  the  revolted  Saxon  nobles,  had  been  as- 
signed by  King  Henry  to  his  mother  and  wife  as  a 
dwelling-place.  There  they  remained,  with  a  few  at- 
tendants to  wait  upon  them,  and,  with  those  attendants, 
a  sufficient  number  of  soldiers  to  act  as  a  garrison,  and 
protect  this  important  fortress  from  a  sudden  attack. 

In  a  large  apartment  of  this  fortress,  might  be  seen 
the  empress,  the  queen,  and  two  ladies,  who,  like 
Agnes  and  Bertha,  were  clothed  in  robes  of  black. 
These  two  females  Avere,  Bianca,  the  mother  of  Beatrice, 
and  the  Countess  Adela,  the  wife  of  the  old  warrior, 
Dedi,  Count  of  Saxony.  All  appeared,  from  their  dark 
robes  and  the  gravity,  if  not  grief,  impressed  upon  their 
features,  to  be  sisters  of  the  same  religious  community. 
And,  like  to  nuns,  in  a  convent,  the  affairs  of  the  world 
abroad  had  remained  for  months  unknown  to  them. 

The  four  females  were  now  engaged  with  the  same 
occupation.  They  were  arranging,  upon  a  wide  frame, 
a  large  piece  of  embroidery,  which  they  had  worked 
with  their  own  hands,  and  had  that  day  completed.  It 
was  an  altar-cloth  of  crimson  silk,  on  which  there  had 
been  formed  bright  leaves  of  laurel,  in  glittering  gold, 
intermingled  with  branches  of  palm  in  dull  gold ;  and 
at  various,  but  regular,  distances,  stars,  with  ruby  crosses 


THE  EE-UNION.  393 

in  the  centre,  each  of  which  was  resplendent  with  nu- 
merous brilliants. 

These  four  females,  as  they  looked  at  the  result  of 
their  toil  for  so  many  months,  gazed  upon  it  with  a  sin- 
cere and  disinterested  admiration,  for  they  thought  not 
of  it  as  a  proof  of  their  skill  in  the  art  of  embroidery, 
but  as  a  present  not  imworthy  to  be  placed  on  the  high 
altar  of  the  Cathedral  Church  of  Magdeburg. 

"  My  dear  child,"  said  the  empress,  "  I  am  quite 
charmed  with  this  altar-piece.  The  design  is  yours. 
The  manner  in  which  those  palm  branches  and  laurel 
leaves  intermingle,  is  perfectly  novel,  and  will,  I  am 
sure,  be  imitated  by  others,  who,  by  so  imitating  it,  will 
prove  their  own  good  taste." 

"  How  kind  you  are,  my  mother,  to  say  so,"  observed 
Bertha ;  "  but  do  not  overlook  those  stars.  It  was  you 
that  thought  of  them,  and  it  is  your  diamonds  alone  that 
give  to  this  altar-piece  that  novelty  of  appearance  for 
which  you  praise  it." 

"  It  is  only  when  they  are  applied  to  the  services 
of  the  altar,  that  I  find  myself  an  admirer  of  precious 
stones,  and  dainty  in  the  due  arrangement  of  them," 
answered  the  empress.  "  But  if  it  were  not  for  the 
nimble  fingers  and  the  wondrous  skill  of  our  two 
friends  Bianca  and  Adela,  many  a  fifth  of  June  must 
have  passed  away  before  our  altar-piece  was  displayed 
in  honor  of  him  for  whom  it  was  worked  —  the  arch- 
bishop and  martyr,  Boniface.  You  and  I,  alone  and 
unassisted,  could  not  have  completed  in  years  that  which 
they  have  done  for  us  in  a  few  months  —  I  might  say 
Aveeks." 

"Time  passed  in  toil  like  this,"  said  the  meek  and 
pious  Bianca,  "is,  in  my  estimation,  like  a  meditation. 


394  THE  POPE   AND   THE  EMPEROE. 

for  as  our  hand  labors  our  heart  is  filled  with  the 
thoughts  of  the  saint  to  whom  we  devote  the  exercise 
of  our  skill.  We  reflect  upon  his  labors,  his  sufferings, 
his  life,  his  death,  his  example,  and  his  precepts.  From 
him  we  raise  our  thoughts  to  God,  who  bestowed  such 
graces  upon  him,  and,  accompanied  by  such  an  interces- 
sor, we  hope  that  the  prayers  we  offer  up  to  heaven  may 
be  acceptable.  A  magnificent  altar-piece  like  this  is 
therefore,  in  my  regard,  but  a  memorial  of  many  holy 
aspirations.  Issuing  from  the  hands  of  women,  it  may 
be,  as  in  this  case  I  trust  it  is,  the  type  of  the  thoughts 
of  those  who,  suffering  much  in  this  world,  have  aban- 
doned all  its  pleasures  to  place  their  hearts,  where  those 
hearts  can  alone  find  peace  —  on  the  altar  of  God." 

"  Ah !  Bianca,"  observed  the  Countess  Adela,  "  I 
cannot  say  that  all  the  time  I  have  passed  over  that 
piece  of  embroidery  has  been  as  piously  occupied  as  you 
suggest  it  should  have  been.  To  me  it  has  been  merely 
a  refuge  from  grief  I  have  sought,  whilst  engaged  at 
it,  to  forget  that  I  am  a  wife  separated  from  my  husband 
—  that  my  brave  step-son  sleeps  in  a  premature  and  a 
blood-stained  grave,  and  that  my  own  son  —  boy  as  he 
is  —  now  pines  in  a  prison.  As  I  so  labored,  I  en- 
deavored to  banish  soi-rows  from  my  heart  —  and  to  for- 
get, at  the  same  time,  the  wrong-doer  and  the  wronged, 
whilst  I  prayed  that  I  might  yet  live  to  sec  virtue  tri- 
umphant upon  this  earth  as  it  is  in  heaven." 

A  female  attendant  here  entered  the  room,  and,  pre- 
senting a  large  golden  ring  to  the  empress,  said  : 

*'  A  tall,  old  man  —  a  peasant  —  desires  this  ring  to 
be  given  to  your  Majesty,  and  at  the  same  time  prays 
that  he  may,  as  the  bearer  of  it,  be  allowed  a  few 
minutes'  conversation  with  you,  and  alone." 


THE  RE-UNION.  395 

The  empress  regarded  the  ring  for  an  instant,  and 
then  said  — 

"  Conduct  him  to  this  apartment,  and  leave  us,  as 
soon  as  you  have  introduced  him." 

The  attendant  departed  with  these  words,  and  the  mo- 
ment she  had  done  so,  the  empress  beckoned  to  Bertha, 
Bianca,  and  Adela  to  approach  her,  and  thus  whispered, 
in  a  low  tone  of  voice  : 

''  This  is  the  ring  of  the  Bishop  of  Halberstadt. 
The  bearer  must  bring  us  some  important  intelligence 
from  the  prelate,  who  was  arrested  with  the  other  bishops 
at  Spira,  upon  surrendering  to  my  son." 

The  person  to  whom  she  thus  referred  was  now  led 
into  the  room,  but  it  was  impossible  to  discern  his  fea- 
tures, as  his  head  was  covered  with  a  large  hood.  The 
moment  he  entered  the  apartment  he  approached  the 
empress,  and,  without  speaking  a  word,  knelt  down  be- 
fore her,  M'hilst  his  eyes  glanced  carefully  around  all 
parts  of  the  chamber,  as  if  he  were  anxious  that  the 
empress  should  take  care  that  no  intruder  might  listen 
to  the  words  he  had  to  speak  to  her. 

"  We  are  alone,"  said  the  empress ;  "  what  message 
bearest  thou  from  one  who  is  venerated  by  me  for  his 
manifold  virtues  ? " 

The  man  made  no  answer  for  a  moment ;  but  again 
looking  round  the  room,  and  perceiving  none  other  to 
be  present  than  Agnes,  her  daughter,  and  their  two 
friends,  he  cast  back  his  hood,  and  said  — 

"  The  humblest  of  your  subjects  kneels  before  you." 

"  O  I  heavens  !  "  exclaimed  the  Empress  Agnes,  "  it 
is  the  Bishop  of  Halberstadt  himself.  Kise  up,  my 
lord  bishop ;  it  is  not  fitting  that  one  so  good  as  you 
should  kneel  before  a  sinner  like  myself.     How  comes 


396  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

it  that  you  have  thus  ventured  hither  —  or,  do  you 
come  with  the  joyful  tidings  that  my  son  has  repaired 
the  wrongs  he  has  done  you  ?  " 

«  Alas  !  no,"  replied  the  bishop,  "  God  has  not  yet 
been  pleased  to  touch  the  heart  of  King  Henry,  and  bring 
him  to  repentance  for  his  manifold  sins.  I  am  now 
here  in  disguise,  because  he  still  thirsts  for  my  blood ; 
and  I  am  here,  by  stealth,  because  I  have  but  now 
escaped  from  the  life-long  imprisonment,  in  a  foreign 
land,  to  which  he  had  doomed  me.  But,  despite  of  the 
dangers  that  surrounded  me,  and  the  perils  with  which 
he  has  beset  my  path,  I  have  ventured  into  this  strong 
fortress,  now  occupied  by  his  soldiers,  because,  what  I 
have  to  say  may  be  useful  to  you,  to  Queen  Bertha,  and, 
ultimately,  even  to  my  persecutor." 

"  Excellent  man !  worthy  brother  of  the  virtuous 
Anno,"  observed  the  empress.  "  I  thank  you  —  my 
child.  Bertha,  thanks  you  —  and  I  trust  that  even  the 
sinful  Henry  will  yet  thank  you.  But  let  us  know  what 
has  happened  to  you  ;  as  we  are  all  absolutely  ignorant, 
for  more  than  two  months,  of  what  has  occurred  in  that 
world  which  is  beyond  the  waters  of  the  Elbe  that  flow 
around  this  fortress.  Let  us  know  especially  what  has 
happened  to  yourself." 

*'  It  is  absolutely  necessary  I  should  state  it,"  replied 
the  Bishop  of  Halberstadt,  *'  as,  otherwise,  you  could 
not  clearly  comprehend  the  necessity  of  my  being  here. 
No  sooner  were  chains  placed  upon  my  person,  than 
King  Henry  proposed  that  I  should  be  put  to  death,  and 
that,  too,  by  tortures,  such  as  are  inflicted  upon  the  worst 
and  meanest  of  criminals.  That  intention  was  abandoned 
by  him,  because  he  found  that  the  nobility  and  the  prel- 
ates, who  had  hitherto  supported  him,  would  regard  it 


THE  EE-UNION.  397 

as  a  dishonor  and  an  infamy  attachable  to  their  rank.  It 
was  their  remonstrances  alone,  and  these,  too,  with  great 
difficulty,  that  saved  my  life." 

"  O  !  monstrous  !  monstrous  !  "  exclaimed  the  em- 
press. "  Who,  but  Henry,  ever  thought  of  so  treating 
a  bishop  ?  Wherefore  did  so  hellish  an  idea  enter  his 
mind  ?  " 

'•'  The  reason  he  alleged  for  desiring  to  inflict  upon 
me  a  cruel  death,"  replied  the  bishop,  "  was,  that  he 
considered  me,  not  merely  as  the  fomenter,  but  as  the 
author  of  the  rebellion  of  the  Saxons  against  him.  The 
intensity  of  his  hatred  he  demonstrated  by  conduct  un- 
worthy alike  of  a  king  and  a  Christian,  for,  finding  that 
it  would  not  be  politic  to  slay  me,  he  sought  to  degrade 
nie,  and,  therefore,  he  compelled  me  —  a  bishop  —  to 
have  no  other  dwelling-place  but  in  his  kitchen  —  to 
associate  with  his  scullions,  and  to  perform  the  meanest 
and  most  filthy  duties  required  from  such  domestics. 
This  conduct,  he  soon  perceived,  dishonored  himself,  but 
did  not  dishonor  me  ;  for  I  cheerfully  submitted  to  it. 
I  need  not  say  to  my  pious  listeners  by  whose  high  ex- 
ample I  was  encouraged,  when  I  found  myself  treated 
*  like  a  slave.'  " 

"  Why,  this  treatment  was  worse  than  death,"  said 
the  excited  Adela  —  '•'  a  king  who  so  treated  a  bishop 
ought  to  be  hurled  from  his  throne." 

''  Henry  only  does  that  which  he  is  permitted,"  meek- 
ly replied  the  bishop.  "  Perchance,  there  was  pride  in 
my  heart,  and  God,  in  his  mercy,  desired  that  I  should 
be  so  humbled.  It  is  now  past  —  my  conscience  is  my 
witness  that  I  patiently  submitted  to  it  —  so  patiently, 
that  the  king  saw  it  was  not  what  he  intended  it  should 
have  been  —  an  intolerable  punishment.  And  hence  it 
34 


398  THE  POPE   AND   THE  EMPEROR. 

was  that  he  resolved  upon  banishing  me  for  life.  To 
effect  this  object,  he  had  obtained  a  promise  from  the 
King  of  Hungary,  that,  if  I  were  sent  to  him  as  a  pris- 
oner, he  would  incarcerate  me  in  a  strong  fortress,  and 
in  such  a  distant  part  of  his  dominions,  that  it  would  be 
impossible  for  me  ever  to  make  my  way  back  in  safety 
to  Germany.  This  plan  was  arranged ;  but,  luckily  for 
me,  intelligence  respecting  it  was  gained  by  a  true  and 
devoted  friend  —  Udalric  of  Bavaria  —  who  desired  me, 
as  I  descended  the  Danube,  to  obtain  permission,  as  fre- 
quently as  I  could,  from  my  guards,  to  land  upon  its 
banks,  for  the  purpose  either  of  repose  or  prayer,  whilst 
he  would  be  constantly  on  the  watch,  at  the  first  favor- 
able opportunity,  to  rescue  me." 

"  Brave  Udalric,"  said  Bertha.  "  I  shall  ever  think 
of  him  in  my  prayers." 

"  The  suggestion  of  Udalric,"  continued  the  bishop, 
*'  was  one  absolutely  necessary  for  me  to  act  upon,  even 
for  the  preservation  of  my  life  ;  for,  when  I  was  on 
board  the  vessel  that  was  to  convey  me,  by  the  waters 
of  the  Danube,  down  to  Hungary,  so  exhausted  was  I  by 
anxiety,  by  care,  and  by  the  toils  imposed  upon  me  in 
the  king's  kitchen,  that  I  must  have  died  upon  my  pas- 
sage, if  I  had  not  been  permitted,  noM*  and  then,  to  land. 
The  first  two  or  three  days  I  was  placed  upon  the  banks 
I  could  walk  with  the  greatest  difficulty,  but  at  last  I 
recovered  my  health,  and  when  we  had  got  to  a  vast 
distance  away  from  the  king's  court,  I  was  permitted, 
much  more  freely  than  at»  first,  to  leave  the  boat.  Last 
St.  John's  day,  we  came,  at  an  early  hour  of  the  morn- 
ing, within  sight  of  a  church.  As  that  church  was  but 
a  short  distance  from  the  river,  I  requested  permission 
to  proceed  thither  and  offer  up  the  holy  sacrifice  of  the 


THE  RE-UNION.  399 

mass  in  honor  of  St.  John.  This  request  was  acceded 
to.  I  had  finished  the  mass,  and  was  preparing  to  return 
to  the  boat,  when  I  found  the  church  surrounded  by 
bodies  of  armed  troopers.  At  the  head  of  these  I  rec- 
ognized Udah-ic,  who  immediately  carried  me  away  from 
my  guards,  and  conducted  me  to  one  of  his  castles, 
where  I  remained  concealed  until  all  chance  of  pursuit 
was  at  an  end.  From  thence  I  travelled,  disguised  as 
you  see  me,  and  am  now  on  my  way  to  Halberstadt, 
where,  in  the  course  of  a  few  hours,  I  shall  be  at  the 
head  of  a  Saxon  army  sufficient  to  encounter  and  defeat 
any  force  that  Henry  can  bring  against  us." 

"  Thank  God !  "  said  Adela,  "  then  we  may  hope 
soon  to  hear  of  the  downfall  and  destruction  of  a 
tyrant !  " 

"Lady,"  remarked  Bertha,  "you  forget  that  you 
speak  in  presence  of  a  wife  and  a  mother." 

"  I  did,  indeed,  forget,"  answered  Adela,  "  and  I 
pray  your  pardon,  if  what  I  have  said  has  given  offence 
to  you  or  the  empress,  whom  I  both  respect  and  love. 
I  hate  the  king,  because  I  regard  him  as  a  bad  son,  and 
a  worse  husband.  I  wish  for  his  downfall,  because  he 
has  made  many  a  wife  a  widow,  and  many  a  mother 
childless." 

"  It  is  in  his  downfall  that  we  can  alone  hope  to  find 
his  conversion,"  remarked  the  bishop,  "  and  you,  there- 
fore, though  his  mother  and  his  wife,  must  desire  it. 
As  to  his  destruction,  I  am  not  less  anxious  than  you  to 
prevent  it ;  and  therefore  it  is  that  I  have  risked  my  life 
to  see  and  speak  with  the  mother  and  the  wife  of  my 
greatest  enemy-" 

"  We  thank  you,"  replied  the  empress,  "  for  this 
great  proof  of  your  Christian  charity.     We  pray  you 


400         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

speak.     You  shall  find  Bertha  and  myself  alike  docile, 
whatever  be  the  sage  advice  you  give  us." 

"  The  treatment,"  remarked  the  bishop,  "  which  I 
received  at  the  hands  of  Hemy,  will  suffice  to  show  you 
how  he  conducted  himself  towards  others,  who,  relying 
upon  his  oath  and  honor,  placed  themselves  at  his  dis- 
cretion. As  to  the  humbler  classes  of  the  Saxons,  once 
the  country  was  left  without  protectors,  he  reduced  them 
to  the  condition  of  slaves,  or  he  has  had  them  massa- 
cred —  lands,  remarkable  for  their  fertility,  have  been 
converted  into  wildernesses  —  families,  distinguished  for 
their  wealth,  have  been  reduced  to  a  state  of  absolute 
penury.  The  sword  has  been  at  the  throats  of  all  — 
fire  in  the  habitations  of  all,  and  the  king  has  conducted 
himself  in  such  a  manner  that  there  can  be  now  no  doubt 
entertained  —  and  none  is  felt  —  by  the  Saxons,  that  it 
is  his  deliberate  intention  to  exterminate  them  as  a  na- 
tion. Hundreds  —  nay,  hundreds  of  thousands,  despite 
all  his  precautions,  have  escaped  his  wrath  and  evaded 
his  vengeance.  He  has  so  misgoverned  Saxony  —  with 
such  impiety  and  such  inhumanity  —  that  all  now  regard 
it  to  be  their  first  duty,  as  men,  as  citizens,  and  as  Chris- 
tians, to  take  up  arms  against  him,  and  never  again  to 
lay  them  down  until  they  have  driven  him  from  the 
throne.  The  Saxons,  now,  will  make  no  peace  Avith 
him ;  they  will  never  rest  satisfied  until  they  have 
chosen  another  to  reign,  as  king,  over  them.  He 
stands,  at  this  moment,  upon  the  brink  of  a  precipice, 
and  yet  fancies  he  is  as  secure  as  if  he  were  in  the 
strongest  citadel,  and  surrounded  with  an  army  like  that 
which  he  commanded  at  Langensalza.  He  has,  every 
where,  created  against  himself  relentless  enemies,  and 
he  has,  every  where,  alienated  from  him  those  disposed  to 


THE  RE-UNION.  401 

be  his  friends.  Upon  the  first  shock  that  is  given  to  his 
seeming  power,  it  will  be  found  to  disperse,  as  the  thick 
spring-mist  that  gathers  on  the  surface  of  the  earth  van- 
ishes from  the  sight  before  the  burning  rays  of  the  sun. 
It  is  at  this  moment,  when  he  supposes  Saxony  is  help- 
less at  his  feet,  that  there  is,  in  the  hand  of  every  Saxon, 
man,  a  sword  ready  to  be  unsheathed  when  the  signal 
for  battle  is  given.  He  dreams  that  he  is  omnipotent, 
when  it  requires  but  one  single  word  from  Rome  to  be 
hallooed  in  his  ear,  and  he  must  wake  to  find  himself 
alone,  helpless,  desolate  ;  with  no  hand  to  help  —  no 
tongue  to  commiserate  —  and  no  eye  to  weep  for  hira. 
That  single  word  from  Rome  will  soon  be  spoken  —  the 
messenger,  who  is  to  pronounce  it,  is  now  speeding  fast 
towards  Germany  to  give  utterance  to  it.  Henry  knows 
not  this  —  suspects  it  not.  Up  to  this  hour  his  crimes 
have  brought  with  them  success,  and  each  new  success 
has  been  the  forerunner  of  fresh  crimes.  He  has,  until 
now,  experienced  neither  reverse  nor  check ;  but  a 
change  is  about  to  occur,  as  great,  in  his  fortunes,'  as  in 
those  of  the  Pagan  general,  Pompey,  of  whom  it  is  said 
that,  in  his  pride,  he  once  boasted  he  had  but  to  stamp 
his  foot,  and  armed  men  would  issue  from  the  earth  to 
obey  him ;  but  who  was  reduced,  afterwards,  to  so  poor 
a  state,  that  he  was  murdered  by  a  wretch,  so  base  and 
mean,  that  he  would  not  be  permitted  to  bear  the  shield 
of  a  freeman  and  a  soldier.  Henry,  at  this  moment,  is 
like  the  boastful  Pompey ;  and  it  is  for  the  empress  and 
the  queen  to  take  care  that  his  death  be  not  like  that  of 
the  proud  Roman  —  or  even  worse  —  like  to  some  other 
Pagans,  who,  in  their  despair  at  a  great  reverse  of  for- 
tune, died  upon  their  own  swords." 

"  O,  in  mercy's  sake  1  "  said  the  pious  empress,  hor- 

u* 


402  THE  POPE   AND  THE  EMPEEOR. 

rifled  at  such  an  awful  warning  as  this,  "  tell  us  what 
can  be  done  by  Bertha  or  myself,  to  prevent  that  worst 
of  evils  befalling  my  son  —  the  death  of  an  impenitent 
and  obdurate  sinner." 

"  Be  with  him  —  or,  at  least,  let  Queen  Bertha  be 
with  him,  if  it  be  possible,  when  he  is  overthrown,"  re- 
plied the  bishop,  "  for  overthrown  he  will  be.  Even 
now  he  is  working  his  own  downfall.  He  has,  in  the 
plenitude  of  his  supposed  power,  been  so  demented  as  to 
declare  war  against  Gregory  VII.  —  to  induce  one  of  his 
creatures  to  assume  the  functions  of  an  anti-pope  —  and 
he  is  now  preparing  to  add  impiety  to  impiety,  by  in- 
ducing a  bishop  to  pronounce  sentence  of  excommunica- 
tion upon  his  holiness.  This  scandalous  proceeding  will 
take  place  shortly ;  and  I  have  been  informed  (for  we  have 
sure  information  as  to  all  his  doings)  that  he  intends  to 
summon  you  both  —  empress  and  queen  —  to  be  present 
at  the  sacrilegious  ceremony.  I  come  now  to  entreat  of 
you,  that  if  you  be  required  to  witness  such  a  proceed- 
ing, to  go  there." 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Agnes,  whilst  her  mild  eyes, 
for  the  first  time,  flashed  with  indignation,  "  be  willing 
witnesses  to  a  sacrilege  ? — never." 

"  Such  is  the  answer  I  expected  from  you,"  said  the 
bishop  —  "  such  is  the  reply  that  I  supposed  you  would 
send  to  the  king  if  I  did  not  come  to  shoAv  you  how  neces- 
sary it  is  that  you  should  comply  with  such  a  requisition. 
About  the  time  that  he  thus  offends  publicly  in  sight 
of  earth  and  of  heaven,  the  blow,  long  impending  over  his 
head,  will  fall  upon  him.  You  know  his  pride,  and  how 
hard  it  will  })o  for  him  to  submit  to  a  reverse  of  fortune. 
Go  then  to  hitn  —  save  him  from  himself —  save  him  from 
despair  ;  for  there  will  be,  gnawing  at  his  heart,  many 


THE   RE-UNION.  403 

a  baffled  sin  unrepented  of,  and  many  an  accomplished 
sin  dwelt  upon  with  criminal  satisfaction.  Even  now,  I 
believe,  that  in  the  schism  he  hopes  to  establish,  the 
abortive  scheme  of  a  divorce  would,  if  he  were  permitted 
to  be  successful,  be  revived." 

"  O,  my  Lord  Bishop,"  said  the  agitated  Bertha,  "  even 
if  I  were  to  go  alone,  and  barefooted,  I  will  be  found  by 
the  side  of  my  husband." 

Bianca  made  no  observation,  but  having  been  told  by 
the  empress  and  Bertha  how  sadly  her  daughter's  happi- 
ness was  compromised  by  the  projected  divorce,  the  deli- 
cate pinky  shade  upon  her  cheek,  like  the  tender  blush 
on  the  flower  of  the  sweetbrier,  was  changed  to  the 
waxy  whiteness  of  the  lily. 

"  So  completely,"  continued  the  bishop,  "  has  the 
king's  attention  been  absorbed  by  his  quan^el  witli  the 
Pope,  and  so  certain  is  he  that  no  power  on  this  earth 
can  now  resist  him,  once  he  chooses  to  beat  it  down 
with  his  armies,  that  either  he  has  not  heard,  or  he  does 
not  choose  to  bestow  a  thought  upon  what  is  occurring  in 
Saxony,  where  his  fortresses,  established  for  the  destruc- 
tion of  the  people,  are  constantly  falling  into  our  hands, 
and  becoming  strongholds  for  the  popular  defence." 

"  The  king's  fortresses  taken  by  the  Saxons  !  "  said 
Bianca,  "  does  your  lordship  happen  to  know  if  Erzege- 
birge  has  been  one  of  these  fortresses  ?  " 

"  It  has,"  replied  the  bishop.  "  The  Saxons,  led  on 
by  some  lord  of  Italy,  have  seized. upon  that  fortress,  and 
its  Swabian  soldiers  are  now  held  as  hostages  for  Mag- 
nus, Duke  of  Saxony." 

"  0,  my  child,  my  child !  my  darling  Beatrice,  what 
has  become  of  her?"  exclaimed  I'ianca,  almost  deliri- 
ous between  the  contending  emotions  of  astonishment, 
Joy,  and  anxiety. 


404         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEKOR. 

''  I  know  no  more,  lady,"  observed  the  bishop,  "  than 
what  I  have  stated  to  you.  Let  this,  however,  content 
to  quiet  your  apprehensions,  that  if  your  daughter  were 
a  prisoner  in  Erzegebirge  at  the  time  it  was  captured, 
she  most  probably  remains  there,  in  a  state  of  perfect 
safety.  The  conqueror  of  Erzegebirge  is  described  as 
an  old  man  —  one  celebrated  in  Italy  as  a  warrior  —  as 
the  bravest  of  the  generals  in  the  whole  of  the  Roman 
Principality  —  an  especial  favorite  of  the  good  Pope^ 
Gregory  VI." 

"  And  his  name  ?  what  can  be  his  name  ?  "  inquired 
Bianca,  forgetting  in  these  Avords,  for  the  instant,  the 
thoughts  of  her  daughter. 

"  I  never  heard  his  name,"  answered  the  bishop.  "  And 
what  I  now  state  to  you  respecting  him  is  but  rumor,  for 
the  old  man  himself  never  refers  to  his  past  career." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Bianca,  sighing,  "  it  is  but  rumor  ;  for 
there  is  but  one  man  in  all  the  Roman  states  to  whom, 
if  he  were  living,  your  description  could  justly  apply. 
He  died  before  Beatrice  was  born  —  and  in  his  grave  lie 
buried  all  my  hopes  of  happiness  in  this  world  but  one  — 
that  of  again  clasping  my  child  to  my  heart." 

**  A  messenger  from  his  Majesty  demands  admission 
to  the  presence  of  the  empress  and  of  the  queen,"  said 
a  soldier,  in  a  loud  voice,  entering  the  apartment. 

"  Conduct  him  hither  at  once,"  replied  the  empress, 
"  we  are  prepared  to  receive  him." 

The  soldier  bowed,  and  instantly  withdrew. 

"  This  must  be  some  friend  of  Henry's,"  remarked 
the  empress.  "  It  might  lead  to  much  mischief  if  he 
recognized  you,  my  Lord  Bishop.  •  Be  then  so  good  as 
to  seat  yourself  behind  this  piece  of  embroidery." 

"  I  do  so  in  obedience  to  your  Majesty,  although  to 


THE   RE-UNION.  405 

myself  tlie  man  could  cause  no  harm,"  replied  the  bishop. 
"  A  single  blast  from  my  horn  would  render  it  impossi- 
ble for  him  to  take  me  living  from  this  place  a  prisoner, 
and  any  injury  to  me  now  would  cost  him  his  life.  For 
his  sake  —  whoever  he  may  be  —  I  shall  withdraw  from 
his  sight." 

So  saying,  the  bishop  retired  behind  the  magnificent 
piece  of  embroidered  tapestry,  and  at  the  same  instant 
the  envoy  of  the  king  entered  the  apartment. 

The  2nessenger  was  a  knight,  who  wore  a  hauberk  of 
minute  thick  shells  of  gold,  which  glittered  like  so  many 
sparkling  gems.  As  he  moved,  his  golden  helmet  seemed 
to  be  one  mass  of  gilding,  and  had  a  rim  and  crest  set 
with  precious  stones,  whilst  his  lower  limbs  were  encased 
in  a  species  of  leggings,  which  encircled  them  as  with 
ropes  of  gold,  and  to  the  belt,  which  was  beset  with 
gems,  hung  a  short  sword  in  a  scabbard  of  gold,  whilst 
its  hilt  flashed  with  the  mass  of  diamonds  encrusted 
upon  it.  The  knight  in  this  gorgeous  armor — so  gor- 
geous that  it  seemed  more  suited  for  a  banqueting  hall 
than  a  camp,  was  a  man  about  forty  years  of  age,  but 
whose  jet  black  hair,  and  handsome  features,  and  fair 
complexion,  gave  to  him  all  the  appearance  of  youthful 
manhood.  He  entered  the  room  with  the  proud,  confi- 
dent step  of  a  man  that  flattery  has  done  much  to  spoil, 
and  who  believed  that,  with  personal  beauty,  an  individ- 
ual may  be  pardoned  many  offences.  He  was  a  courtier 
—  and  a  favorite  with  the  king ;  he  entertained,  like 
Henry,  and  like  most  evil-hearted  and  corrupt-minded 
men,  a  mean  oi)inion  of  the  female  sex,  and  fancying 
that  no  woman  could  look  upon  him  without  his  being 
admired,  he  saw  with  gratified  pride  that  he  was  in  the 
presence  of  two  nol)le  ladies  like  Bertha  and  Bianca  — 
both  beautiful,  and  both  seemingly  young. 


406  THE  POPE  AND  THE   EMPEROR. 

"  I  am,  I  presume,"  said  this  gairish  knight,  with  a 
smile,  which  showed  a  range  of  teeth  as  white  as  ivory, 
*'  in  the  presence  of  their  Majesties  the  empress  and  the 
queen." 

"This,"  said  the  empress,  "is  my  daughter,  the 
Queen  Bertha  —  I  am  the  mother  of  the  king.  Your 
name.  Sir  Knight,  and  your  business  here  ?  " 

"  In  the  presence  of  a  king,  a  knight  is  permitted  to 
wear  his  helmet  —  but  in  the  presence  of  so  much  beau- 
ty, the  knight  must  manifest,  by  his  demeanor,  that  he  is 
its  slave,"  said  the  messenger,  as  he  removed  the  helmet, 
and  permitted  those  present  to  look  upon  a  head  that 
might  be  a  fitting  model  for  a  statue  of  the  youthful 
Mercury. 

"  A  truce  to  compliments,  Sir  Knight,"  said  the  em- 
press, in  a  severe  tone.  "  They  do  not  suit  the  lips 
of  my  son's  subject — and  cannot,  without  reproof,  be 
spoken  in  the  hearing  of  my  son's  wife.  Your  name. 
Sir  Knight,  and  the  cause  of  your  coming  to  Magdeburg 
—  and  be  as  brief  as  the  nature  of  your  message  will 
permit  ;  for  our  time  is  too  precious  to  be  wasted  in 
idle  discourse." 

The  dark  eyes  of  the  messenger  flashed  with  anger 
when  he  found  himself  thus  reproved ;  and  a  feeling  of 
hatred  against  the  four  women  in  whose  presence  he 
stood  crept  into  his  heart,  when  he  perceived,  by  their 
looks,  how  truly  the  empress  had  spoken  the  thoughts 
of  each. 

"My  name,  madam,"  he  said,  "is  Rutgcr  —  I  am  a 
Count  of  the  empire." 

"  llutger  !  llutger  !  I  pray  your  Majesty's  pardon," 
Raid  Adela,  "  let  me  look  on  this  man." 

The  vehement  spirited  Adela  did  not  wait  the  per- 


THE  EE-UNION.  407 

mission  she  sought  for,  but  walked  over  to  Rutger.  She 
stood  looking  at  him  for  a  minute  or  so,  in  the  face. 
The  aged  woman  examined  his  features  as  if  she  were 
gazing,  not  at  the  man,  but  the  picture  of  a  man  — 
and  that,  too,  of  a  man  whose  name  was  loathsome,  al- 
though his  features  had  remained,  hitherto,  unknown  to 
ner.  She  gazed  upon  him  from  head  to  foot  —  and, 
though  she  spoke  not  a  word,  there  was  such  undis- 
guised disgust  expressed  by  her  eyes  and  lips,  that  Kut- 
ger,  with  all  his  unabashed  confidence  in  his  personal 
appearance,  blushed,  with  a  sense  of  awkward  shame,  that 
was  as  painful  as  it  was  strange  to  him. 

Adela  spoke  not  a  word  until  her  eyes  lighted  on  the 
magnificent  sword  by  his  side,  and  she  said  to  him : 

"  This  is,  I  suppose  the  sword  of  Attila  ?  " 

"It  is,"  stammered  forth  Rutger,  vitterly  confounded 
by  the  demeanor  of  the  Countess  Adela. 

"  The  ways  of  Providence  are  wonderful,"  said  Ade- 
la, as  if  speaking  aloud  her  thoughts.  "  Here  is  a  thing 
*that  calls  itself  a  knight,  and  that  one  blow  from  my  old 
husband's  Danish  axe  would  split  in  two,  as  readily  and 
as  speedily  as  the  hatchet  of  the  woodman  splits  a  dry 
block  of  wood ;  and  yet  here  it  is,  safe  and  sound,  and 
smirking,  and  dressed  up  like  a  vain  girl  for  a  holiday, 
whilst  brave  men  are  in  their  graves,  and  good  men  are  in 
exile,  and  honest  men  are  hiding  from  the  face  of  day,  and 
all  because  this  compound  of  gewgaws,  gems,  and  vanity 
lent  itself  to  as  foul  a  plot  as  ever  yet  was  concocted 
by  cowards  and  put  in  execution  by  assassins.  The 
ways  of  Providence  arc  not  only  wonderful,  but  inscru- 
table, or  such  events  as  these  could  never  come  to  pass. 
I  humbly  entreat  your  Majesty  to  pardon  me  if  I  add  to 
his  own  account  of  himself  some  other  facts  respecting 
this  Icnight." 


408  THE  POPE  AND  THE  ESfPEPvOE. 

The  word  "  knight "  was  spoken  with  that  withering, 
scornful,  mocking  smile,  which,  when  seen  upon  a  wo- 
man's lip,  fastens  in  the  breast  of  a  man  like  a  poisoned 
dagger  —  for  it  denotes  her  belief  that  he  upon  whom 
she  bestows  it  is  a  spiritless  dastard. 

Kutger  so  felt  it,  —  for,  unconsciously,  he  placed  his 
hand  upon  the  hilt  of  his  sword. 

"  I  told  you  he  was  a  Icniglit  —  a  polite  knight,"  con- 
tinued Adela  ;  "  for  he  who  would  not  wear  his  helmet 
in  compliment  to  a  young  queen,  is  now  ready  to  draw 
his  sword  upon  an  aged  countess  — -  but  beware.  Sir 
Knight,  we  women  have  sharp-pointed  instruments  for 
working  embroidery  —  and,  if  you  draw  your  sword  on 
me,  I  will  stab  you  with  one  of  them,  where  you  stand. 
Be  calm  while  I  say  to  her  majesty  what  you  should  have 
said  for  yourself : 

"  You,  Sir  Knight,  should  have  said  this  —  '  I  am 
the  Count  Rutger  —  I  am  the  Count  Rutger,  the  chosen, 
because  the  willing  compurgator  of  Egen  (whose  oath 
no  man  would  believe),  when  that  Egen  preferred  a 
false  accusation  against  Otho,  Duke  of  Bavaria  —  and  J, 
Kutger,  the  friend  of  Henry,  and  the  witness  for  Egen, 
the  friend  of  Henry,  deposed,  in  proof  of  the  accusation, 
that  I  held  the  sword  of  Attila,  the  property  of  Duke 
Otho,  bestowed  by  Otho  upon  Dedi  the  younger,  and 
filched  by  Egen  from  Dedi  —  and  so  sustaining,  by  my 
rank,  my  credit,  and  my  wealth,  the  miserable  miscreant, 
Egen  —  / —  Kutger,  the  count  —  may  be  regarded  as 
the  prime  mover  of  that  war  which  has  now  so  long  laid 
Saxony  desolate  —  and,  having  done  these  deeds  —  \^en 
warriors  met  in  arms  together,  /,  as  a  knight,  buckled 
on  my  beautiful  armor,  and  hied  me  off  to  Henschenwege 
—  and  at  the  first  sight  I  got  of  an  enemy,  I  ran  away ! 


THE   RE-UNION.  409 

—  and,  though  1  left  my  reputation,  like  my  shield,  be- 
hind me,  yet,  here  I  stand  with  my  nice  armor,  and  my 
fine  sword  of  Attila  by  my  side  !  —  do  you  not  admire 
me  1  Do  you  not  admire  the  armor  so  dearly  saved  ? 
Do  you  not  admire  the  sword  so  marvellously  won  ? 
Are  you  not  proud  to  see  that  he,  who  was  so  ani^ous 
to  save  his  helmet  from  a  dinge  in  battle,  is  now  so 
thoughtful  of  his  duty  to  the  female  sex,  that  he  will 
not  wear  it  in  their  presence  ? ' 

"This,  Sir  Knight,  Count  of  the  Empire  —  patron  of 
Egen  —  courtier  of  King  Henry  —  woman- wooer,  battle- 
skulker,  war-exciter,  hero  of  Henschenwege  —  you  should 
have  said  for  yourself  —  and  then  the  empress,  and  more 
than  the  empress,  the  youthful  queen,  might  have  looked 
upon  you  —  as  I  do." 

And,  with  these  words,  there  shot  forth  from  the  eyes 
of  Adela  a  glance  of  scornful  contempt,  which  Rutger 
could  not  encounter  without  reddening  for  very  shame 

—  and  stammering  forth  : 

"  I  know  not,  madam,  wherefore  you  thus  address  me 

—  I  am  not  conscious  that " 

"  I  am  Adela,  the  Countess  Dedi,"  she  observed ;  "and 
if  it  were  not  for  you,  and  the  plot  that  you  concocted 
with  Egen,  my  husband  would  not  now  be  in  exile  — 
my  child  would  not  be  in  prison  —  my  step-son  would 
not  be  in  his  grave  —  my  cousin  Otho  would  not  be  de- 
prived of  his  rank  —  my  country  would  not  be  made  a 
■yjraste  —  and  my  fellow-citizens  would  not  be  reduced  to 
serfdom.  The  wrongs  that  you  have  done  to  me  and 
mine  are  irreparable  ;  if  every  hair  in  your  head  were  a 
life,  and  that  you  were  shorn  of  them  all,  as  I  hope  yet 
to  see  you  shorn  as  a  craven  and  a  criniiaal,  yet  would 
they  not  afford  sufficient  atonement  for  all  the  evil  you 
35 


410  THE  POPE   AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

have  done  me,  and  all  tlie  mischief  you  have  caused  to 
others.  But,  had  you  not  the  heart  of  a  woman,  with 
the  form  of  a  man,  1  never  would  have  reproached  you 
with  my  wrongs.  It  is  because  I  find  that  you  fly  the 
swords  of  warriors,  and  seek  the  society  of  dames,  that 
I  wish  to  show  you  that  what  we  women  hate  worse  than 
a  coward,  is  the  eaves-dropping  plotter,  who  concocts  a 
mischief,  and  shrinks,  as  you  have  done,  from  the  re- 
sponsibility that  attaches  to  it." 

"  Adela,"  said  the  empress,  "  I  pray  you  peace  :  I 
believe  that  you  have  much  cause  for  entertaining  re- 
sentment against  Count  Rutger,  whose  name  has  been 
mixed  up  with  the  persecution  of  your  family  and  race. 
Here,  however,  he  is  the  messenger  of  the  king,  and 
entitled,  if  not  to  personal  respect  on  his  own  account, 
at  least  to  forbearance  as  the  representative  of  our  sov- 
ereign." 

"  I  have  not  spoken  thus  to  Count  Rutger,"  replied 
Adela,  "  merely  for  the  purpose  of  gratifying  any  re- 
sentment I  may  justly  feel,  and  that  I  do  feel,  against 
him.  I  have  spoken  thus  to  him,  because  I  more  than 
suspect  the  purpose  for  which  the  king  has  sent  hira 
hither,  and  which  purpose  may  be  concealed  either  under 
a  real,  or  a  pretended  message.  Rutger  comes  here,  by 
the  desire  of  King  Henry,  to  act  the  lover  of  our  queen ! 
It  is  not  the  first  time  that  so  notable  a  project  has  been 
devised  by  his  Majesty ;  and  it  is  in  pursuance  of  such 
a  plan  that  we  see  this  manikin  dressed  up  in  fineiy, 
and  displaying  his  frippery,  and  even  tying  to  his  side 
the  sword  of  Attila ;  but  let  him  beware  of  that  sword, 
it  is  a  fatal  weapon  ;  terrible  to  an  enemy,  when  its  hilt 
is  held  by  a  brave  man,  but  a  sword  that  always  turns 
its  point  against  the  heart  of  a  craven  that  ventures  to 


THE  RE-UNION.  411 

toucli  it.  Let  Eutger  now  speak  his  message  —  I  have 
told  you  the  purport  of  his  visit." 

The  confusion  portrayed  in  the  countenance  of  Eutger 
manifested  how  accurately  the  Countess  Adela  had  sur- 
mised the  real  intention  he  had  in  visiting  the  queen  ; 
that  (as  in  the  affair  of  Otho)  he  had  consented  to  be  an 
instrument  in  the  completion  of  an  infamous  plot,  for 
the  purpose  of  carrying  out  the  fell  designs  of  Henry 
against  a  virtuous  and  faithful  wife. 

"  You  have  not  told  us  the  nature  of  your  message, 
Count  Eutger,"  said  the  empress. 

"  The  king,"  stuttered  forth  Eutger,  "  directed  me  to 
say,  that  he  desired  the  presence  of  your  Majesty,  and 
commanded  that  of  his  wife,  the  Queen  Bertha,  at  Frank- 
fort-on-the-Maine,  in  ten  days  from  this  time,  as  an 
affair  of  great  importance  to  the  empire  is  about  to  be 
disposed  of:  and,  at  the  same  time,  he  bids  me  tender 
my  personal  attendance  upon  the  queen,  in  order  that  I 
might  protect  her  from  the  peril  of  so  long  and  danger- 
ous a  journey." 

"  O,  tender  husband  !  "  exclaimed  Adela,  "  who  thus 
cautiously  provides  that  the  greatest  danger  to  which  his 
wife  shall  be  exposed  will  be  from  the  protector  he  has 
selected  for  her  !  Assent  to  such  a  proposal  as  this. 
Queen  Bertha,  and  you  will  find  that  you  are  more  safe, 
when  ravening  wolves  are  howling  around  your  litter, 
than  when  you  are  reposing  in  a  bower  of  roses." 

Whilst  Adela  thus  spoke,  the  empress  and  Bertha 
consulted  together,  and  then  the  empress  thus  spoke  to 
Count  Eutger  : 

"  Say  to  the  king,  our  son,  that  his  wife,  the  queen, 
and  I  will  be  in  Frankfort  upon  the  day  appointed.  I, 
in  that  journey,  shall  be  the  protector  of  my  daughter. 


412         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEEOE. 

I  express  her  feelings  and  mine,  when  I  say  that  your 
presence  would  be  felt  as  an  inconvenience,  and  we 
therefore  decline  it.  You  may  now  retire.  Farewell, 
Count  Rutger." 

The  count  perceived  that  the  plot  of  his  master  against 
Queen  Bertha  was  suspected,  and  therefore,  without  at- 
tempting to  remonstrate  with  the  empress  as  to  the  de- 
cision which  she  had  come  to,  he  bowed  lowly  to  both, 
and  hurried  from  the  apartment. 

"  O,  mother,""  said  Bertha,  upon  the  withdrawal  of 
Rutger,  "  the  presence  of  this  base  man  here,  and  the 
intention  with  which  he  intruded  himself,  convince  me 
that  Henry  persists  in  his  sinful  project  of  a  divorce." 

*'  My  child,"  replied  the  empress,  "  our  sole  confi- 
dence must  be  in  God.  He  has  already  rendered  abor- 
tive all  the  plots  of  your  enemies  against  you.  Rely 
upon  him,  for  he  never  fails  those  who  have  full  faith 
in  him.  But  what  detains  the  Bishop  of  Halberstadt  ? 
He  must  be  aware  that  this  wicked  courtier  has  departed. 
Why  does  he  not  come  forth  ?  My  Lord  Bishop  !  my 
Lord  Bishop  !  "  said  the  empress,  in  a  loud  voice,  '•  you 
may  come  forth.     Your  enemy  has  departed." 

With  these  words  the  bishop  again  appeared  before 
the  empress,  and  said  : 

"  May  I  ask  your  Majesty  what  was  the  name  of  the 
king's  messenger  ?  " 

"  Count  Rutger,"  replied  the  empress.  "  But  did 
you  not  hear  our  conversation  ?  " 

"  Not  one  word  of  it,"  replied  the  bishop.  *'  Upon 
passing  that  tapestry,  I  perceived  that  there  was  an 
arrow-slit  in  the  upper  end  of  the  chamber  that  looked 
upon  the  river,  and  what  I  saw  there  interested  me  so 
much  that  I  did  not  for  the  moment  remember  even 


THE  RE-UNION.  413 

■where  I  was.  I  am  sure,  too,  that  some  persons  in  this 
room  are,  though  they  may  not  be  aware  of  it,  interest- 
ed in  what  I  saw.  Do  you  expect  any  one  to  visit  you 
here  ?  " 

''  I  can  answer  for  all  here  as  my  children,"  replied 
the  empress,  "  for  I  know  the  thoughts  and  hearts  of 
all.     They  do  not  hope  nor  look  for  a  visit  from  any  one." 

"  Then  some  persons  are  coming  here,"  remarked  the 
bishop,  "  that  they  neither  hope  nor  expect  to  see.  But 
I  may  describe  to  you  what  I  observed.  The  arrow-slit 
from  which  I  gazed  commands  an  extensive  view  of  the 
river  Elbe.  Upon  looking  out  upon  its  waters  I  could 
not  discern  a  single  boat  but  one,  and  that  was  at  a  con- 
siderable distance.  As  it  came  nearer,  I  could  perceive 
that  there  were  in  it  but  three  persons  —  a  female  and 
two  men.  As  it  came  close,  I  saw  that  one  of  the  men 
was  old,  and  the  other  a  mere  boy  —  that  the  old  man 
rowed,  with  a  vigorous  hand,  that  the  boy  steered,  and 
that  the  female,  though  concealed  by  a  long  veil,  was 
young.  I  remarked  that  when  a  turn  of  the  river  brought 
them  within  view  of  the  fortress,  and  that  they  saw  a  boat 
with  the  king's  standard,  and  manned  Avith  the  king's 
red-schaaren,  was  at  the  postern-gate,  they  hastily  pushed 
back,  and  concealed  themselves  in  their  small  boat  amid 
the  reeds  on  the  river  bank.  I  observed  that,  as  they 
pushed  back,  the  old  man  covered  himself  with  a  pil- 
grim's hood,  and  the  young  lad  cast  himself  down  to 
the  bottom  of  the  boat,  the  better  to  escape  being  re- 
marked. 

"  It  is  in  that  position  I  left  them  —  thus  conceahng 

themselves  —  and    there,   no    doubt,   they  will    remain 

until  Count  Rutger  and  his  attendants  have  withdrawn. 

They  must  be  coming   here  —  otherwise   they  w^ould 

35* 


414  THE  rOPE   AND   THE  EMPEROR. 

have  passed  onward  when  they  saw  the  royal  standard. 
They  must  be  Saxons  —  probably  the  friends  of  the 
Countess  Dedi ;  foj,  otherwise,  coming  here,  they  would 
not  have  feared  to  encounter  Rutger." 

"  Coming  to  me  they  could  not  be,"  said  the  Countess 
Adela  ;  "  but  what  do  you  say  of  one  of  them  being  a 
boy?" 

"  One  of  these  three  persons  is  certainly  a  boy,"  re- 
marked the  bishop,  "  a  flaxen-haired  boy,  between  sixteen 
and  seventeen  years  of  age." 

"  Ah !  such,  exactly,  is  the  appearance,  and  such  the 
age  of  my  son,"  said  the  Countess  Dedi,  "  but,  alas !  he 
is  not  now  to  be  found  on  the  waters  of  the  Elbe  —  he 
must  be  sought  for  on  the  Maine." 

"  May  he  not  have  escaped,  as  the  Bishop  of  Halber- 
stadt  escaped  ?  "  asked  the  gentle  Bianca,  whose  heart 
beat  in  sympathy  with  that  of  the  bereaved  countess. 

"  Ah !  no,"  said  the  despondent  Adela,  "  for  my  poor 
boy  had  no  Udalric  of  Bavaria  to  befriend  him.  There 
is  as  little  likelihood  that  it  is  my  boy  is  in  the  boat,  the 
bishop  has  observed,  as  that  the  young  female  is  your 
daughter." 

Poor  Bianca  trembled,  as  if  convulsions  were  about 
to  seize  her,  when  this  thought  was  suggested  to  her. 
She  was  attempting  to  speak,  when  a  smiling  countenance 

—  it  Avas  as  that  of  an  angel,  for  it  was  the  face  of  Beatrice 

—  came  before  her  eyes  ;  and,  as  warm  kisses  pressed  her 
lips,  and  the  word  "  mother  "  sounded  in  her  ears,  the 
world  vanished  from  her  sight,  and  she  lay  in  the  arms 
of  her  child,  as  if  joy  had  struck  a  death-blow  to  her 
heart. 

The  words  "  mother,"  "  mother,"  sounded  in  the  ears 
of  Adela,  and  her  boy  was  pressed  to  her  heart,  whilst 


THE    RE-UNION.  415 

the  exclamations  "  my  son  !  "  *'  my  son  !  "  were  repeat- 
ed, as  if,  in  their  repetition,  the  certainty  of  the  mother, 
in  having  her  son  restored  to  her,  was  rendered  more  sure. 

That  mother  and  that  son  saw  not,  heard  not,  thought 
not  of  aught  else  in  the  world  besides.  Although  the 
rocky  fortress  in  which  they  stood  had  tumbled  into  ruins 
beneath  their  feet,  it  would  not  have  unfastened  the 
clasping  hands  of  Adela  around  the  form  of  the  son  so 
unexpectedly  restored  to  her.  There  was  fierceness  even 
in  the  ardent  tenderness  with  which  she  kissed  him,  as 
if  each  kiss  were  a  vengeance  taken  upon  those  who  had 
had  the  unmanly  cruelty  to  tear  from  an  aged  woman 
her  only  child  —  the  last  —  the  youngest,  too,  of  all  her 
children. 

Whilst  Bianca  lay  still  insensible  in  the  arms  of  Bea- 
trice, the  pilgrim  advanced,  and  pressing  a  long  kiss  upon 
the  forehead  of  his  daughter,  he  retired  to  where  the 
Bishop  of  Halberstadt  stood,  and  said  :  — 

"  For  the  present,  my  lord,  our  presence  here  can  be 
of  no  avail.  Let  me  leave  this  day  to  Bianca  —  to  the 
unalloyed  happiness  of  having  her  child  restored  to  her, 
and  of  knowing  that  her  father  still  lives  to  watch  over 
her  and  Beatrice.  Such  joy  may  prepare  her  to  encounter 
the  greater  sorrows  that  await  her  hereafter,  and  the  full 
extent  of  which  can  be  but  gradually  made  known  to  her. 
Come,  my  Lord  Bishop,  your  longer  delay  in  this  palace 
may  be  dangerous.  The  embraces  of  Beatrice,  and  the 
cares  of  the  good  empress  and  the  pious  Bertha,  will  soon 
restore  Bianca  to  consciousness." 

A  few  minutes  after  this  conversation,  a  pilgrim  was 
seen  rowing  across  tlae  Elbe  a  small  boat,  in  which  the 
only  passenger  was  an  aged  man  in  the  garb  of  a  peasant. 


416  THE  POPE   AND  THE  EMPEROP,. 

CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

THE  HYPOCRITE  UNMASKED. 

It  was  midday  on  a  Sunday,  in  the  city  of  Frankfort- 
on-the-Maine,  and  the  great  church  was  crowded  in  all 
its  parts ;  for  not  only  was  it  known  that  the  king,  the 
queen,  the  empress,  and  the  high  officers,  counts,  and 
lords  of  the  empire,  with  many  of  the  prelates,  would  be 
present,  but  also  that  a  ceremony  was  about  to  be  per- 
formed by  William,  the  Lord  Bishop  of  Utrecht,  which 
would  attract  the  attention  and  excite  the  wonder  of 
Christendom.  What  the  ceremony  might  be  was  not 
known ;  but  when  it  was  rumored  that  it  was  specially  to^ 
take  place  at  the  desire  of  the  king,  an  intense  curiosity 
was  excited  to  witness  it,  and  therefore  the  humble  were 
not  less  desirous  than  the  rich  to  gain  admission  within 
the  precincts  of  the  church. 

A  large  portion  of  the  church  had,  by  the  especial  desire 
of  King  Henry,  been  left  for  the  use  of  the  people,  for 
he  intended  that  they  should  bear  aAvay  with  them  a  full 
impression  of  the  omnipotence  of  his  power,  and  that  they 
should  also  have  their  minds  impressed,  by  means  of  the 
forms  of  religion,  with  a  conviction  that,  in  his  conflict 
with  Pope  Gregory  VII.,  he  had,  at  least,  those  called 
bishops  to  support  him.  Thus,  when  high  mass  in  the 
great  church  at  Frankfort  had  been  concluded,  were  to 
be  seen  in  the  places  immediately  adjoining  the  altar,  and 
near  to  the  thrones  erected  for  Henry,  his  wife,  and  his 
mother,  none  but  persons  in  gorgeous  armor,  or  in  costly 
robes,  and  all  radiant  with  gold  and  jewelry,  whi.lst  before 
them  sat,  in  their  magnificent  pontificals,  his  "bishops 


THE  HYPOCRITE  UNMASKED.  417 

of  the  empire."  The  upper  part  of  the  church  shone 
forth,  in  the  blaze  of  day,  one  mass  of  splendor  ;  and  upon 
that  splendor  gazed  an  awe-stricken  population,  who 
pressed  in  a  thick  crowd  together,  and  who  were  but  the 
representatives  of  vast  multitudes  who  thronged  in  thou- 
sands outside,  and  who  waited  with  impatience  to  hear 
whatever  might  pass,  and  which  it  was  an  utter  impos- 
sibility for  themselves  to  witness. 

The  high  mass  was  concluded  ;  but  instead  of  those  who 
had  been  in  prayer  during  its  celebration  preparing  to 
depart,  a  low  murmur  of  excitement  ran  through  the 
church,  when  it  was  seen  that  the  king  and  all  the  high 
dignitaries  rose  from  their  knees  to  resume  their  seats, 
and  when  the  church  bells  were  heard  ringing  forth,  not 
in  regular  peals,  but  in  harsh,  jangled,  and  disordered 
sounds,  as  if  announcing  that  some  awful  calamity  had 
occurred.  The  joyous  and  triumphant  swell  of  the  organ 
was  suddenly  changed  into  a  wailing  and  melancholy  cry, 
as  the  vestry  doors  were  thrown  open,  and,  issuing  forth, 
were  seen  first,  the  youthful  acolytes  in  red  robes,  and 
then  subdeacons  in  dark  cassocks,  deacons  in  white  sur- 
plices, priests  with  their  plain  chasubles,  and  the  chap- 
lains, in  attendance  upon  the  bishop,  fully  vested  as  priests. 
These  all  came  marching  forth  two  by  two  —  file  pouring 
out  after  file  —  and  all  bearing  long,  white,  lighted  tapers 
in  their  hands  ;  and  last  of  all  issued  forth,  with  a  mitre 
of  pure  gold  upon  his  head,  and  a  snow-white  cope  upon 
his  shoulders,  the  officiating  prelate  in  the  ceremony  — 
William,  the  anti-papal  Bishop  of  Utrecht. 

With  slow  and  solemn  tread  the  bishop  followed  the 
procession,  until  he  reached  the  centre  of  the  high  altar, 
the  steps  of  which  he  ascended  ;  and,  as  he  did  so,  the 
acolytes,  subdeacons,  deacons,  and  priests,  arranged  them- 


418  THE  POPE  AND    THE  EMPEROE. 

selves  on  tlie  steps  of  the  altar,  each  mounting  according 
to  his  respective  rank  —  one,  a  step  above  the  other,  and 
the  bishop's  chaplains  ranging  themselves  at  the  two  ex- 
tremities of  the  altar,  before  which  the  bishop  stood. 
"When  all  were  so  arranged,  the  bishop  turned  and  faced 
the  vast  multitude,  and,  as  he  did  so,  a  sudden  paleness 
overspread  his  countenance.  It  came  upon  him  as  the 
wailing  of  the  organ  ceased,  and  as  the  tumultuous  jangling 
of  the  bells  was  silenced. 

The  face  of  the  anti-papal  bishop  was,  at  that  moment, 
the  face  of  a  desperate  man  —  in  the  high  forehead,  now 
corrugated  with  wrinkles  —  in  the  frowning  brows  that 
knit  together,  and  sought  in  vain  to  conceal  the  living 
fire  that  darted  forth  from  his  blood-shot  eyes  —  in  the 
dilated  nostrils,  and^in  the  quivering  lips,  now  white  and 
bloodless,  might  be  detected  the  agonies  of  a  spirit,  which 
defied  heaven,  and  dared  the  worst  tortures  of  a  hell, 
w^hich  it  did  not  disbelieve.  Those  who  had  known  the 
bishop,  would,  in  the  terrible  aspect  that  now  glared  forth 
from  beneath  the  golden  mitre,  have  failed  to  recognize 
him.  Let  not  the  reader  marvel,  although  he  has  been 
previously  introduced  to  him,  if  he  fail  at  once  to  know, 
in  this  description,  one  of  the  individuals  previously 
portrayed. 

Close  to  the  side  of  the  bishop  was  placed,  by  one  of 
his  chaplains,  a  long,  lighted  taper ;  whilst  the  prelate 
drew  forth  from  his  bosom  a  parchment,  on  which  some 
characters  were  inscribed. 

There  was  a  solemn,  chilling  stillness  in  all  parts  of  the 
church,  as  the  bishop  advanced  from  the  altar  to  the  out- 
ermost verge  of  the  stone  platform  on  which  it  rested. 
Every  syllabic,  although  spoken  in  a  harsh  and  broken 
voice  by  him,  was  audible  in  the  most  remote  corners  of 
that  vast  church. 


THE   HYPOCRITE  UNMASKED.  419 

"My  brethren,"  said  the  pope-hating  bishop,  "the 
church,  when  it  has  determined  upon  the  excommunication 
of  an  incorrigible  sinner,  has  also  declared  that  excom- 
munication should  take  place  upon  certain  days,  and  at 
certain  seasons  —  as  upon  a  Thursday  —  upon  an  ascen- 
sion day  —  and  upon  the  feast  of  the  dedication  of  the 
church  of  the  twelve  apostles.  It  does  so,  to  signify  that 
they,  who  are  so  excommunicated,  are  cast  off  from  all 
participation  in  the  Blessed  Sacrament,  instituted  first  on 
a  Thursday  ;  upon  the  ascension  day,  as  showing  that  the 
church,  which  then  prays  for  all,  alone  renounces  them  ; 
and  upon  the  feast  of  the  dedication,  as  showing  that  the 
church,  which  is  opened  to  all  the  faithful,  expels  them 
from  its  doors.  Necessity  compels  us,  upon  this  occasion, 
to  deviate  from  these  observances ;  but  we  have  preserved 
others  —  the  disordered  ringing  of  the  bells,  and  the  ex- 
tinction of  the  lighted  candles  —  the  first,  as  showing  that 
the  bells,  which,  by  their  regular  peal,  convoke  Christians 
to  prayer,  will,  by  their  irregular  chiming,  scatter  the 
unbelieving  into  confusion ;  and  as  the  light  of  the  can- 
dles is  extinguished,  so  shall  the  light  of  the  holy  spirit 
be  darkened  in  their  hearts.  One  portion  of  these  cer- 
emonies has  been  complied  with,  and  the  other  you  have 
yet  to  witness. 

"  The  excommunication  of  a  Christian  is  a  sad  and 
painful  duty,  and  one  to  which  the  church  never  has 
recourse  but  in  the  last  sad  extremity.  It  is  painful  to 
direct  it  against  the  poorest  layman  in  the  community  — 
more  painful  to  direct  it  against  a  priest ;  but  for  me,  my 
brethren,  has  been  reserved  the  most  painful  of  all  duties, 
that  of  excommunicating  one  who  ranks  as  the  highest 
of  all  bishops. 

"Why  do  I  excommunicate  him?     Because  he  has 


420  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

acted  as  a  tyrant  —  because  he  has  sought  for  favor  with 
the  multitude  by  thwarting  the  will  of  princes  —  by  in- 
terfering with  them  in  the  government  of  their  dominions 
—  by  denying  to  them  the  privileges  which  appertain  to 
them  as  sovereigns  —  by  seeking  to  prevent  them  from 
rewarding,  with  the  highest  offices  in  the  church,  those 
servants  whom  they  know  to  be  most  devoted  to  them, 
and  of  whose  merits  they  have  personal  cognizance.  Why 
do  I  excommunicate  him  ?  Because  I  am  but  one  of  many 
German  bishops  that  he  has  visited  with  his  censures,  and 
that  he  declares  to  be  excommunicated,  because  we  will 
not  compel  our  clergy  to  live  as  if  they  were  angels,  and 
not  men,  and  had  not  the  passions  of  men.  He  who 
rejects  the  majority  of  the  German  bishops,  as  unfitted  to 
continue  bishops,  I,  on  the  part  of  the  German  bishops, 
repudiate  as  our  apostolical  superior.  He  who  threatens 
to  excommunicate  our  king,  I  now  excommunicate. 

"  Yes  —  from  this  spot  —  from  this  altar,  in  the  pres- 
ence of  my  king,  of  his  nobles,  and  of  the  assembled 
multitude,  I,  William  of  Utrecht,  here  declare  that  Hil- 
debrand,  he  who  falsely  designates  himself  Pope  Gregory 
Vn.,  is  a  tyrant,  a  perjurer,  a  seeker  after  novelties,  a 
dishonored  bishop,  and  adulterate  pontiff — a  man  whose 
life  is  stained  with  manifold  sins,  and  unnumbered  vices  ; 
and  renouncing  him  as  a  pope,  and  denouncing  him  as  a 
bishop,  and  scorning  him  as  a  man,  I  from  this  moment 
forward,  declare  him  to  be  excommunicated. 

"  To  Hildebrand,  the  false  pope,  I  now  say,  anathema ! 
anathema !  anathema  ! " 

And,  as  the  bishop  spoke  these  words,  he  seized  the 
lighted  taper  that  stood  by  his  side,  and  dashing  it  upon 
the  earth,  he  trampled  out  the  light.  That  which  he  did 
was  imitated  on  the  instant,  by  the  deacons,  subdeacons. 


THE  HYPOCRITE  UNMASKED.  421 

and  priests ;  and,  as  these  lights  were  extinguished,,  a 
shriek  of  horror  arose  from  all  parts  of  the  church. 

The  anti-papal  bishop  stood  with  his  foot  still  resting 
upon  the  quenched  taper ;  he  stood  moveless,  as  if  he 
had  been  transformed  to  stone  —  with  eyes  that  seemed 
to  be  starting  from  their  sockets  —  with  mouth  wide 
gaping,  and  with  out-stretched  arms,  and  his  body  resting 
for  support  against  the  altar.  Thus  he  stood,  and  he 
heard  not  the  cries  that  filled  the  church,  for  all  his  senses 
were  absorbed  in  the  spectacle  that  presented  itself  to  his 
sight,  by  the  withdrawal  of  a  curtain,  at  the  moment  that 
he  pronounced  "  anathema  "  upon  Pope  Gregory.  The 
curtain  had,  up  to  that  moment,  screened  from  his  view 
a  side  altar,  dedicated  to  the  Blessed  Virgin,  and  now 
that  it  was  withdrawn,  he  beheld,  in  front  of  a  white 
marble  statue  of  the  Virgin,  which  had  its  arms  extended 
over  them,  as  invoking  a  blessing  upon  their  heads,  three 
persons  —  they  were  the  victims  of  his  life  of  sin,  of  sac- 
rilege, of  treachery,  and  of  deceit.  They  were,  the 
pilgrim!  Bianca !  and  Beatrice!  and  in  the  face  of  all 
there  was  the  same  expression  of  reproach,  of  shame,  and 
of  abhorrence ;  and  a  single  word,  uttered  by  each,  de- 
noted their  feelings  towards  him ;  for,  in  these  three 
words  were  given  the  past  biography  of  the  criminal 
bishop.     These  words  were  :  — 

"  Eberhard !  " 

"  I\Ianfred ! " 

"  Euebert ! " 

The  side  altar  of  the  Virgin,  in  which  these  three  per- 
sons were  seen,  was  within  view  of  those  who  stood  on 
the  high  altar,  or  of  those  who  were  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  church  to  that  at  which  it  was  placed  —  lying,  as 
it  were,  in  a  niche,  and  out  of  the  observation  of  all  who 
30 


422  THE  POPE  AND   THE  EMPEROE. 

were  gathered  in  the  choir,  nave,  and  aisles.  Thus,  it 
was  distinctly  visible  to  the  Bishop  of  Utrecht,  and  of  his 
assistants :  to  a  few  of  the  bishops,  having  seats  directly 
opposite  to  it ;  but  it  was  not,  and  could  not  be,  seen  by 
the  king,  nor  his  courtiers,  who  were  on  the  same  side 
with  it,  and  was  completely  hidden  from  the  observation 
of  the  great  body  of  the  congregation  beyond  them.  The 
three,  who  thus  appeared  to  the  sight  of  the  anti-popeiy 
bishop,  and  who  withered  his  heart  by  the  single  word 
that  each  addressed  to  him,  were  arrayed  in  a  different 
costume.  The  pilgrim  had  cast  aside  his  robe,  and  now 
appeared  in  helmet  and  haubergeon  of  polished  steel,  that 
shone  forth  as  if  both  were  composed  of  no  other  material 
than  glittering  silver.  Bianca,  with  white  robes,  and  a 
garland  of  snow-white  roses  on  her  head,  seemed  to  be  a 
bride ;  and  the  beauty  of  Beatrice  was  partly  concealed 
beneath  her  dark  robe  of  a  novice,  and  partly  rendered 
more  brilliant  by  the  wreath  of  white  roses  that  encircled 
her  head,  and  the  diamond  cross  of  the  empress  that  shone 
forth  upon  her  bosom. 

The  anti-popery  bishop, gazed  in  horror  upon  these 
three  persons,  that  seemed  to  have  risen  up  before  him, 
as  by  a  miracle  of  heaven,  to  reproach  him  for  all  his 
past  offences,  at  the  very  moment  that  he  had  aggravated 
them  by  the  commission  of  the  last  crime  that  he  was 
then  in  the  very  act  of  perpetrating.  He  believed  that, 
having  climbed  to  the  very  climax  of  sin,  the  moment 
for  his  downfall  and  his  punishment  had  now  come  j 
and,  so  believing  and  so  feeling,  a  change  seemed,  in  an 
instant,  to  be  operated  in  the  whole  being  of  the  misera- 
ble man  ;  for  the  cries,  with  which  the  whole  church 
had  been  filled,  as  he  pronounced  "anathema  "  upon  the 
Pope,  were  still  heard,  when  all  were  instantly  quelled 


THE  HYPOCRITE   UNMASKED.  423 

by  the  shrill  shrieking  voice  of  the  bishop,  who,  gazing 
upon  the  pilgrim,  Bianca,  and  Beatrice,  thus  addressed 
them :  — 

"  Pardon !  pardon !  pardon  !  mercy  and  forgiveness. 
Lord  of  Yiterbo  ;  Bianca,  the  betrayed ;  Beatrice,  the 
virtuous.  Pardon  me,  O  Lord  of  Viterbo  ;  for  when 
you  received  me,  and  hospitably  entertained  me,  I  de- 
ceived you,  by  telling  you  I  was  a  young  knight  of  Ger- 
many, at  the  moment  I  had  received  the  first  tonsure 
of  a  deacon.  Pardon  me,  O  Bianca  ;  for,  besotted  by 
your  beauty,  I  perjured  myself,  when,  as  a  husband,  I 
plighted  to  you  my  troth,  for  I  was  already  bound  by  the 
vow  —  the  vow  of  celibacy  to  the  church  —  to  God  — 
to  the  people.  Before  I  saw  you  —  1  had  vowed  at  the 
altar,  that  I  would  be  a  man  solely  and  exclusively  de- 
voted to  God  and  to  the  people  —  a  slave  in  his  service 
and  to  theirs  —  a  man  belonging  wholly  to  his  Creator  ; 
to  live,  to  labor,  and  to  die  for  the  promotion  of  his 
glory — a  man  belonging  wholly  and  solely  to  the 
people  ;  to  live,  to  labor,  and  to  die  in  promoting  their 
salvation.  Before  I  took  that  vow  —  I  was  told  —  ay, 
three  several  times  was  I  told  by  the  pontiff,  that  I  was 
still  free  —  that  I  was  not  compelled,  not  urged,  not 
required  to  take  any  such  vow  —  and  yet,  despite  these 
repeated  warnings,  I  intruded  myself  into  the  sanctuary, 
and  I  took  the  tow.  I  took  it  to  perjure  myself,  and 
to  dishonor  you,  by  deceiving  you  into  a  sacrilegious 
marriage.  Base  villain  that  I  was,  I  deceived  you  by 
telling  you  that  your  father  was  slain ;  I  sought  to  de- 
ceive you  into  a  false  marriage,  by  bringing  with  me  an 
impostor,  who  was  to  have  performed  a  sham  ceremony 
between  us  ;  and,  when  I  said  that  I  plighted  to  you  my 
troth,  I  was  a  liar  —  a  perjurer  —  a  villain.     Pardon  — 


424         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROE. 

pardon,  me,  Bianca !  for  had  you  not  been  so  kind,  so 
lovely,  and  so  confiding,  I  never  had  lived  a  life  of  sin,  of 
mystery,  and  of  treachery.  And  you,  O  Beatrice  !  —  my 
child !  my  child !  —  pardon  —  O,  pardon  !  and  pray  that 
pardon  may  be  granted  to  your  hapless  father,  who  now 
stands  thus  before  you  —  a  public  sinner  —  confessing 
his  sins  ;  and  one  of  whose  crimes  is  that  he  is  the  parent 
—  the  sacrilegious,  guilty  parent  —  of  one  so  stainless 
and  so  sinless  as  yourself.  Pardon,  O,  pardon  me !  for 
even  your  infantile  caresses  could  never  pacify,  for  an 
instant,  the  hell-fire  that  burned  in  my  bosom,  when  I 
remembered  that  your  father  was  a  priest,  bound  by  his 
vow  —  a  bishop,  foul  with  every  baseness,  when  I  ought 
to  be  an  example  of  virtue  and  chastity  to  others.  O, 
Beatrice,  my  child,  pardon  —  O,  God!  she  is  dying  be- 
fore my  face,  and  I  dare  not,  must  not,  touch  her  with 
my  polluted  hands " 

These  words  were  spoken  by  the  bishop,  as  he  saw 
Beatrice  fall,  fainting  in  the  arms  of  the  pilgrim.  As 
she  fell,  the  pilgrim  and  Bianca  pointed  to  the  statue  of 
the  Virgin,  at  the  pediment  of  which  she  fell ;  and,  as 
they  so  pointed,  the  curtain  that  screened  the  chapel 
of  the  Virgin  was  drawn  quickly  in  front  of  it,  and 
the  persons  to  whom  the  bishop  had  been  addressing 
himself  were  shut  out  from  his  view.  He  never  again 
looked  upon  them  in  this  world. 

"  They  point  to  the  statue  of  the  Virgin,"  muttered 
the  bishop  to  himself,  ''  and  tell  me  to  pray  for  her  in- 
tercession and  pardon.  They  will  not  forgive  me,  and 
they  bid  me  seek  for  her  forgiveness.  I  have  sought  to 
com.pensate  them  both  for  the  wrongs  I  have  done  them, 
by  a  life  of  tenderness  and  love,  and  they  will  not 
pardon  mc ;  but  bid  me  seek  for  it  from  her  that  I  have 


THE  HYPOCRITE  UNMASKED.  425 

offended  in  thought.  In  word,  and  in  deed,  by  years  of 
sin.  When  they  will  not  intercede  for  me,  why  hope 
that  she  will  do  so  ?  No  —  no  —  no.  I  deserve  no 
forgiveness  ;  wife  and  child  are  alike  degraded  and  dis- 
honored by  the  connection  with  a  perjured  priest  and  a 
sacrilegious  bishop. 

"  Yes  —  I  am  —  a  reprobate  —  a  castaway ;  accursed 
vow !  had  I  never  taken  it  I  might  have  lived  and  died 
honored  as  a  layman.  Accursed  mitre  ! "  he  exclaimed, 
tearing  it  from  his  head,  and  trampling  upon  it,  *'  but 
for  thy  gaudy  gems  and  damning  brilliancy,  I  never 
should  have  felt  tl'C  demon  ambition  urging  me  onward 
to  a  life  of  base  hj-pocrisy." 

The  wretched  man  stood  like  a  maniac  upon  the  high 
altar,  clinching  his  hands,  and  stamping  again  and  again 
upon  the  golden  mitre  that  lay  at  his  feet.  Amazement 
kept  the  spectators  silent  and  moveless  for  a  moment, 
for  much  of  what  had  passed  was  absolutely  unintelligi- 
ble to  them,  as  they  did  not  see  those  to  whom  the  lan- 
guage of  the  Rome-despising  bishop  had  been  addressed. 
From  their  surprise  they  were  aroused  by  an  agonizing 
shriek,  which  came  from  the  bishop,  as  he  clapped  both 
his  outspread  hands  upon  his  heart,  and  a  white  foam, 
stained  with  blood,  gathered  around  his  lips. 

"  Ah ! "  he  exclaimed,  "  the  vengeance  of  God  has 
fallen  upon  me,  and  the  pangs  of  death  have  seized  me 
—  even  here  —  ay,  here  —  in  the  midst  of  my  sins. 
Yes  —  brethren  —  you  have  heard  me  say  that  I  excom- 
municated Hildebrand.  Now  listen  to  me,  whilst  I  say 
the  just  judgment  of  God  has  fallen  upon  me.  I  die  — 
I  die  an  anti-papal  bishop,  for  I  have  aided  the  king  in 
all  his  evil  deeds  —  I  have  fomented  what  was  bad  in  his 
heart  —  and,  to  please  my  sovereign,  I  have  done  vio- 
36* 


426  THE  POPE   AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

lence  to  my  own  conscience,  by  slandering  HiMebrand, 
that  I  have  ever  known  to  be  good,  holy,  pious,  exem- 
plary, and  virtuous.  My  crime  is  unpardonable  in  the 
sight  of  God,  and  it  is  punished  with  death  —  death  —  an 
eternal  death." 

And  as  the  Bishop  of  Utrecht  spoke  these  words,  he 
rolled,  apparently  a  lifeless  corpse,  from  the  altar,  down 
the  steps  to  the  rails  of  the  sanctuary,  marking  each  step, 
as  he  fell,  with  blotches  of  dark  blood  that  poured  from 
his  mouth. 

"  Let  the  church  be  cleared  instantly,''  exclaimed 
Henry,  rising  from  his  throne  ;  "a  sudden  illness  has 
seized  our  true  and  trusty  friend,  the  Bishop  of  Utrecht. 
Pious  soul!  he  talks  so  wildly  — it  is  plain  he  has  lost 
his  senses.  To  the  palace,  my  friends.  Good  people, 
depart  with  all  speed.  Let  none  remain  in  the  church 
but  the  immediate  attendants  of  the  bishop.  The  heat 
and  excitement  have  been  too  much  for  him.  We  shall 
send  him  our  physician.  Away  —  one  and  all,  from  the 
church." 

In  a  few  minutes  afterwards,  the  church,  which  had 
been  so  crowded,  was  cleared  of  every  one  but  the  chap- 
lains of  the  bishop,  who  had  raised  him  up,  still  in  a  state 
of  insensibility,  and  removed  him  to  the  vestry,  where  he 
was  placed  upon  a  couch,  and  where,  by  the  application 
of  cold  water  to  his  forehead,  he  was,  eventually,  restored 
to  consciousness.  He  saw  the  king's  physician  standing 
by  his  side,  holding  his  hand,  and  asking  him  how  he  was 
affected. 

"  I  feel,"  said  the  bishop,  "  that  I  am  dying  —  that 
liuman  skill  cannot  prolong  my  existence  for  another  hour. 
I  feel  that  I  am  descending  down  —  down  into  hell.  It 
lies  open  for  me ;  and  now.  Sir  Physician,  I  beg  of  you. 


THE   HY*OCIlITE  UNMASKED.  427 

as  you  value  yoiu-  own  salvation,  and  as  you  shall  answer, 
at  the  last  day,  for  the  responsibility  I  now  impose  upon 
you,  hasten  to  the  king  —  tell  him,  for  he  yet  has  time 
to  repent  (but  will  never  do  so),  that  I,  and  all  others  who 
have  favored  his  vices,  are,  with  himself,  doomed  to  eter- 
nal perdition." 

"  O,  my  lord,"  exclaimed  one  of  the  chaplains,  "  speak 
not  thus  —  reflect,  that  for  repentant  sinners,  our  church 
has  provided  the  aid  of  the  Holy  Sacraments." 

"Away  with  thee,  and  thy  sacraments,"  replied  the 
despairing  reprobate.  "  Have  I  not  violated  the  Sacrament 
of  holy  orders  ?  —  have  I  not  violated  the  vow  of  obedience 
that  I  owed  to  my  superior,  the  pontiff?  Have  I  not 
violated  the  vow  of  chastity  ?  Have  I  not  violated  the 
Sacrament  of  marriage  ?  Have  I  not  plighted  my  troth, 
when  I  stood,  with  tonsured  head,  and  consecrated  hands, 
to  receive  a  wife  from  the  hands  of  a  priest  ?  O,  mon- 
strous !  a  priest  married  by  a  priest.  Have  I  not,  whilst 
a  husband  and  a  father,  dared  to  ascend  the  altar  —  to 
touch  the  sacred  vessels  —  to  offer  up  the  Sacrifice  —  to 
grasp  the  crosier  —  and,  whilst  a  curse  to  myself,  to  pro- 
nounce a  benediction  upon  others  ?  The  Sacraments  !  I 
have  desecrated  them  as  far  as  I  could,  and  if  I  dared  to 
participate  in  any  more  of  them,  I  must  but  add  sin  upon 
sin.  By  my  own  deeds  I  have  cut  myself  off,  as  a  rotten 
branch,  from  the  church ;  and  I  now  stand  deservedly 
condemned  to  my  own  despair.  Pray  not  for  me  when 
I  am  dead,  for  the  prayers  of  the  living  can  bring  no  relief 
to  the  souls  of  the  damned. 

"  Why  stare  you  at  me,  chaplain,  as  if  I  spoke  that  of 
which  I  am  not  certain.  My  dying  eyes  can  see  things 
that  are  as  yet  invisible  to  you.  I  see  all  my  sins  rising 
up  around  me,  and  forming,  as  they  rise,  a  tliick  mist. 


428         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

■which  hangs  over  and  about  me,  to  shut  me  in,  as  it  were, 
within  an  impenetrable  pent-house  —  the  thick  pent-house 
of  despair  —  the  only  thing  not  penetrable  by  the  ever- 
descending  rays  of  the  mercy  of  God.  I  see  —  I  see,  as 
my  heart  is  torn  with  the  agonies  of  death  —  as  my  limbs 
shiver  with  torture  —  as  my  clammy  lips  seem  to  be  gluing 
together  with  melting  fire  —  that  devils  stand  at  my  pil- 
low —  there  by  your  side  —  that  they  blow  the  flames 
of  a  burning  hell  into  my  mouth  —  that  they  are  prepared 
to  fly  away  with  my  soul  the  moment  it  parts  from  the 
body  —  that  they  have  now,  to  expedite  my  death,  brought 
up  from  the  bottomless  pit,  my  broken  vow  as  a  priest, 
and  which,  as  a  sharp  spear,  they  are  now  about  to  thrust, 
candescent  with  heat,  down  my  throat  —  that  they  now 
raise  it  —  that  they  now  —  0,  it  is  over " 

William,  the  anti-papal  bishop,  lay  dead  before  the 
chaplain.  A  few  hours  before,  he  had  appeared  to  be  a 
man  destined  to  enjoy  a  long  life.  All  that  now  remained 
of  him  was  a  corpse,  on  the  distorted  features  of  which 
were  impressed  the  proofs  that  an  agonizing  death  had 
been  endured,  and,  in  the  purple  and  blotched  skin,  were 
the  manifestations  that,  even  before  life  had  departed,  a 
sudden  mortification  had  seized  upon  the  limbs  and  the 
intestines. 

The  chaplains  divested  the  body  of  the  pontifical  robes, 
in  which  it  had  been  habited,  and,  rolling  it  up  in  coarse 
cloths,  they  carried  it  at  once  outside  the  town ;  and, 
setting  it  down  upon  unconsecrated  ground,  they  made 
around  it  a  wall  of  large  stones,  as  high  as  the  body  itself, 
and  then  covered  it  over  in  the  same  manner  ;  for,  having 
witnessed  the  dying  moments  of  the  bishop,  they  felt  that 
they  dared  not  bestow  upon  him  Christian  bui'ial,  but  that 
he  should  thus  rest  blocked  up,  casting  around  him  in 
(leatli,  as  in  life  —  a  pestilence. 


THE   EXCOMMUNICATION.  429 

William,  Bisliop  of  Utrecht,  the  opponent,  for  many- 
years,  of  Hildebrand,  he  whose  foul  lips  had  pronounced 
an  excommunication  upon  the  sacred  pontiff,  Gregory 
VII.,  was  thus  consigned  to  the  earth,  not  as  if  he  had 
been  a  man,  a  Christian,  a  priest,  or  a  bishop ;  but  as  if 
his  remains  had  been  nought  more  than  the  carcass  of  a 
dog  or  of  an  ass  ;  for  that  species  of  burial  bestowed  upon 
him  was,  in  those  times,  designated  "  an  ass's  sepulture." 

Thus  lay,  dishonored  and  imblocked  in  the  infamous 
grave  of  an  excommunicated  reprobate,  the  man  that 
Bianca  had  for  so  long  a  time  loved  as  a  husband,  and 
that  Beatrice  had  ever  respected,  though  she  never  could 
love  him,  as  a  father. 


CHAPTER   XXXIV. 

THE   EXCOMMUNICATION. 

Henry  was  alone,  in  the  same  chamber,  in  the  palace 
fortress  of  Frankfort,  in  which  he  Avas  first  seen  by  the  • 
reader,  when  conversing  with  the  Archbishop  of  May- 
ence  and  Diedrich.  He  paced  slowly  and  moodily  up 
and  down  the  apartment,  with  his  arms  crossed  on  his 
breast,  and  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  floor,  seemingly  lo&t  in 
contemplation.  He  suddenly  stopped,  and,  in  doing  so, 
gave  vent  to  the  fancies  that  had  been  fermenting  in  his 
brain :  — 

"  My  power  is  great,"  he  said,  aloud,  "  but  I  am  not 
omnipotent.  I  cannot  put  courage  into  the  hearts  of  the 
timid,  prudence  into  the  minds  of  the  rash,  life  into  the 


430  THE  POPE  AJS'D   THE  EMPEROR. 

bodies  of  the  dead.  If  I  could  have  done  so,  Werenher 
would  not  have  dabbled  with  poisons,  and  might  still  be 
by  my  side  —  Lieman  would  have  eschewed  the  Paterini, 
and  the  swords  of  Godfrey's  followers  —  Croft  would 
have  been  here  to  counsel  me,  and  the  Bishop  of  Utrecht 
would  have  been  saved  from  that  sudden  mania  that 
seized  him,  and  that  has  now  terminated  with  his  death. 
What  mad  words  he  spoke  upon  the  altar,  as  if  he  had 
vision  of  persons  that  he  had  wronged  —  and  amongst 
those  names  was  that  of  Beatrice.  Beatrice  !  Could  he 
be  in  any  way  connected  with  that  strange  personage 
that  she  described  as  her  father  ?  May  it  not  be  that  he, 
living  under  a  false  name,  had  a  wife  and  family  ?  O, 
preposterous  !  no  bishop  could  have  dared  to  live  such  a 
life,  and  not  die  in  despair.  But,  let  me  think  ;  they  say 
that  William  of  Utrecht  did  die  declaring  that  the  devils 
were  bearing  him  to  perdition.  Then  it  may  be  that  my 
fair,  gentle,  and  enchanting  Beatrice  is  his  daughter.  If 
she  be  —  then  I  am  absolved  from  my  promise  to  her. 
She  never  could  be  my  wife ;  but  she  may  be,  she  shall 
be,  of  all  my  female  companions,  the  most  favored.  I 
hope  she  is  the  daughter  of  William  of  Utrecht.  The 
least  I  can  do,  to  show  my  love  for  him,  is  to  love  his 
daughter.  I  must  inquire  into  this  ;  and,  if  what  I  sus- 
pect prove  to  be  true,  then  Egen  shall  be  directed  to 
conduct  her  to  Goslar,  and  there  bestow  upon  her,  in  the 
Olympian  Palace,  that  coronet  of  roses  which  the  death 
of  Clara  has  left  vacant. 

"  If  she  be  the  daughter  of  William,  what  a  life  of 
hypocrisy  the  man  must  have  lived !  Acting,  in  one 
place,  the  part  of  a  layman,  and  thinking  of  his  mitre  J 
acting,  in  another,  the  part  of  a  bishop,  and  thinking  of 
his  wife  and  child ;  and  how,  in  both,  he  must  have 


THE  EXCOMMUNICATION.  431 

trembled,  lest  he  should  be  discovered  !  This  accounts 
for  his  Hfe  of  mystery  —  for  his  absenting  himself  from 
my  court,  and  for  his  seldom  being  seen  in  his  diocese  ; 
and,  whilst  the  world  was  fancying  he  was  passing  his 
days  in  pious  contemplation,  he  was  solacing  himself  with 
a  home,  a  wife,  and  a  family.  O,  the  arrant  hypocrite  ! 
sincere  in  nothing  but  in  his  hatred  to  the  Pope,  and  his 
opposition  to  the  Church  of  Rome. 

"  O,  Beatrice  !  Beatrice  I  fairest,  sweetest,  loveliest  of 
your  sex,  if  it  were  not  for  my  adoration  of  you,  half 
these  thoughts  of  mine  would  not  be  bestowed  upon  the 
deceased  Bishop  of  Utrecht.  I  think  of  him  because  I 
think  of  you. 

"Meddling  fool  that  he  was  —  if  he  were  youi*  father, 
it  is  the  only  virtue  I  can  ascribe  to  him !  —  for  how 
dared  he,  with  his  weak  nerves  and  excitable  temper- 
ament, to  push  himself  into  a  controversy  in  which  two 
mighty  spirits,  like  Hildebrand  and  myself,  were  in 
collision.  What  else  could  he  have  expected  but  to  be 
crushed,  as  he  has  been ;  and,  as  my  honest  physician 
assures  me,  irretrievably  damned  ?  Fool  that  he  was  !  in 
trying  to  serve  me  he  has  done  me  much  injury.  I  could 
see,  in  the  changing  features  of  the  versatile  Sigefrid  — 
I  could  perceive  in  the  horrified  countenances  of  the 
other  German  bishops  —  I  could  notice,  in  the  frightened 
faces  even  of  most  of  my  courtiers  —  and  above  all,  in 
the  angry,  malignant  glances  cast  upon  me  by  the  popu- 
lace, that  they,  one  and  all,  regard  the  sudden  madness 
of  the  Bishop  of  Utrecht,  followed  so  speedily,  as  it  has 
b«en,  by  his  awful  death,  as  a  judgment  of  heaven  in 
favor  of  Hildebrand,  and,  therefore,  against  me,  his 
avowed  opponent.  This  is  a  state  of  things  which  must 
not  be  permitted  to  continue  even  for  twenty-four  hours. 


432         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

It  is  a  superstitious  feeling,  and  it  must  be  crushed  some- 
how, or  some  way.  I  cannot  permit  a  movement,  which 
promised  me  so  much  gain,  to  be  converted,  by  an  acci- 
dent—  a  mere  accident  —  a  stupid  accident  —  to  my 
disadvantage. 

"  Let  me  see  —  let  me  see  —  what  is  to  be  done  ?  " 
With  these  words,  Henry  resumed  his  slow  and 
measured  pace,  and  was  again  lost  in  deep  thought. 
From  this,  however,  he  was  speedily  aroused  by  the 
sudden  entrance  into  the  apartment  of  a  man,  whose 
dust-covered  and  travel-soiled  habiliments  showed  that 
he  had  performed  a  long  journey.  This  man  placed  a 
packet  in  the  hands  of  Henry,  and  then,  as  silently  and 
as  hurriedly  as  he  had  entered  the  room,  he  departed 
from  it. 

Henry  broke  open  the  packet,  and  read,  with  feelings 
of  exultation,  the  few  following  lines  :  — 

"  Cenci,  Prefect  of  Eome,  to  the  mighty  and  magnifi- 
cent Henry,  King  of  Germany,  greeting  :  — 

"  I  have  fulfilled  my  promise.  The  Pope,  Hildebrand, 
is  now  my  prisoner.  Whilst  celebrating  mass  this 
morning,  I,  and  a  number  of  my  armed  followers,  broke 
into  the  church.  I  tore  him,  by  the  hair  of  his  head, 
from  the  altar,  and  he  now  lies,  wounded  and  bleeding, 
a  captive  in  my  tower  at  Rome  ;  from  whence  I  am 
resolved  he  never  shall  depart  with  life,  unless  he  com- 
plies with  the  terms  we  have  both  agreed  upon.  I  told 
him  that  I  had  your  sanction  for  what  I  have  done,  and 
I  have  now  left  him  to  consider  our  conditions,  whilst 
writing  this  to  you. 

"  There  is  great  commotion  in  Rome  —  the  population 
cry  to  arms  !  but  my  tower  is  strong  —  it  is  filled  with 
a  stout  garrison,  and  I  fear  not. 


THE  EXCOMMUNICATION.  433 

"  I  have  found  it  difficult  to  prevent  some  of  my  fol- 
lowers from  slaying  liildebrand.  They  are  incensed 
against  him  for  having  excommunicated  them." 

Henry  read  the  letter  a  second  time ;  and,  as  he  did 
so,  the  joy  he  experienced  upon  its  first  perusal  was 
increased. 

"These  tidings,"  he  observed,  '-'come  most  oppor- 
tunely. What  a  triumph  does  such  intelligence  as  this 
give  me  over  those  who  fancied  that  they  saw,  in  the  sud- 
den death  of  the  Bishop  of  Utrecht,  a  judgment  of  heaven 
in  favor  of  Hildebrand.  How  the  cowardly  Sigefrid 
will  tremble  with  fear  when  he  hears  there  are  brave 
men  in  E-ome  to  drag  the  Pope  from  the  altar,  and  cast 
him,  wounded  and  bleeding,  into  a  dark  dungeon ;  and 
that  there  are  heroes  anxious  to  bathe  their  swords  in  the 
•heart's  blood  of  the  old  hypocrite  !  Would  that  they 
had  slain  him  outright !  for  it  is  not  fitting  that  Hilde- 
brand should  live  and  know  that  I  encouraged  Cenci  in 
this  attack  upon  him. 

"  What  if  the  old  man  should  escape  from  the  tower 
of  Cenci  ? 

"  O,  it  is  a  vain  idea.  The  life  —  the  family  —  the 
estates  —  the  vast  wealth  of  the  Cencis,  are  pledges  for 
the  life  —  imprisonment,  or  the  sudden  death  of  Hilde- 
brand. Cenci  can  neither  yield  him  up,  nor  permit  him 
to  live,  and  hope  to  live  himself. 

"At  last  —  at  last  I  triumph  over  Hildebrand.  At 
last,  the  popedom  lies  at  my  feet ;  and  I  can  pick  it  up 
and  convert  it  into  an  instrument  of  power,  and  an 
engine  whereby  I  can  extort  and  divert  into  the  royal 
treasury  all  the  riches  of  the  church.  O,  how  those 
stolid  German  bishops  shall  yet  wince  beneath  the  weight 
ol 


434  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

of  the  tiara,  when  it  is  worn  by  one  of  my  puppets  ! 
Fools  !  they  fancy  I  have  opposed  Hildebrand  to  please 
them  —  they  shall  soon  learn  that  I  only  did  so  to 
serve  myself.  O,  Croft,  honest,  sincere,  unscrupulous 
Croft,  should  have  lived  to  see  this  day.  There,  in- 
deed, was  a  man  the  most  fitted  of  all  I  ever  knew,  to 
be  my  pope.  Now  I  grasp  within  both  my  hands  the 
church  and  the  state.  Now,  indeed  —  now,  at  last,  my 
triumph  is  come.  Hildebrand  bleeds  and  lies  in  a 
dungeon,  and  I  am  —  a  monarch,  free,  uncontrolled, 
uncontrollable  —  absolute.  Power  —  pleasure  —  wealth 
—  beauty  —  1  can  command  them  all  as  my  slaves,  and 
now,  none  dare  disobey  me  !  " 

Rutger  here  entered  the  apartment,  and  said  — 
*'  The  royal  banquet  now  waits  your  Majesty's  pres- 
ence.    All  the  guests  are  present,  but  two  —  the  empress 
and  the  queen  —  who  pray  of  your  Majesty  to  excuse 
them,  as  both  have  been  —  I  use  their  own  words  —  '  so 
deeply  affected  by  the  dreadful  scene  of  this  morning, 
that  they  find  themselves  incapable  of  partaking  in  any 
festivity,  even  though  your  Majesty  px'esides  over  it.'  " 
Henry  smiled,  and  then  thought  to  himself  — 
"  How  much  more   deeply  will   the   pious   souls   be 
afflicted  when  they  hear  that  their  loved  Pope  is  a  pris- 
oner in  the  hands  of  my  friends  !  "     He  then  added  — 
"  By  whom.  Count  Eutger,  were  the  words  you  have 
repeated,  spoken  ?  " 

"  By  her  Majesty,  the  empress,  in  presence  of  the 
queen,"  replied  Rutger.  "  Ay,  now  I  think  of  it,"  he 
added,  "  the  last  portion  of  the  message  —  the  compli- 
mentary portion  to  your  Majesty,  was  spoken  by  tlie 
queen." 

"By  the   queen/'   repeated   Henry.     "Good,   kind 


THE  EXCOMMUNICATION.  435 

woman,  that  she  is  !  What  a  pity  she  never  can  find 
favor  in  my  sight !  But  how  prospers  your  suit  with 
the  queen,  Rutger  ?  " 

"  As  that  of  every  one  your  Majesty  has  permitted  to 
pay  court  to  her,"  replied  Rutger.  Candor  compels  me 
to  add,  that  she  seems  to  detest  me,  as  much  as  she 
loves  your  Majesty." 

"  What  perverse  creatures  are  these  women  ! "  ex- 
claimed Henry.  "  Now,  I  not  merely  detest,  but  I 
abominate  her.  She  has,  with  her  tears,  washed  out 
every  particle  of  affection  I  might  have  once  entertained 
—  and  mine  was,  at  the  utmost,  but  a  fugitive  fancy  as 
regards  her.  And  yet  I  have  done  my  best  to  please 
her.  I  have  authorized  you,  and  other  of  my  courtiers, 
to  make  love  to  her.  She  might  have  chosen  from 
amongst  the  handsomest  men  that  surround  me,  and  yet 
she  scorns  them  all.  0,  the  inexplicable  perversity  of 
the  female  sex!  What  think  you,  Rutger,  of  Bertha. 
I  do  not  mean  as  a  queen,  but  as  a  woman  ?  " 

"  That  I  never  yet  have  seen  one  more  deserving  of 
the  love,  the  devotion,  and  the  constant  affection  of  a 
husband,"  replied  Rutger. 

"  And  would  you,"  asked  Henry,  "  willingly  become 
her  husband,  if  the  opportunity  were  afforded  to  you?" 

"  I  would  give  my  countship  —  that  is,  I  would  give 
all  I  possess  —  to  be  the  husband  of  Queen  Bertha," 
replied  Rutger. 

"AVell  spoken,  Rutger,"  said  Henry,  with  his  strange, 
malicious  smile  playing  around  his  lips.  "  I  hold  my- 
self much  indebted  to  you,  for  the  support  you  gave,  at 
an  important  moment,  to  the  accusation  preferred  by 
Egen  against  Duke  Otho.  I  have  felt  some  difficulty  in 
selecting  a  proper  reward  for  you.     I  did  not  like  to 


436  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROE. 

offer  you  a  dukeship,  for  that  would  have  imposed  upon 
you  the  necessity  of  leading  military  retainers  into  battle, 
and  your  achievement  at  Henschenwege  proves  that  you 
prefer  showing  your  soldiers  the  way  out  of  a  conflict." 

Eutger's  handsome  features  were  distorted  by  wrinkles, 
and  his  fair  complexion  was  reddened  with  rage,  when 
he  heard  the  king  pronounce  this  bitter  sarcasm  upon 
his  cowardice. 

Henry  enjoyed,  without  appearing  to  notice,  the  con- 
fusion of  his  sycophant,  and  continued  in  the  same  calm 
tone  he  had  been  previously  addressing  him : 

"  I  do  not  think  that  it  would  be  a  fitting  reward  for 
such  good  services  as  you  have  rendered  to  me,  to  be- 
stow upon  you  an  office  that  would  compel  you  to  perform 
duties  for  which  you  have  no  liking.  You  are  suited  to 
be  a  great  man  —  in  the  society  of  women  —  to  be  an 
authority  upon  the  decoration  of  their  persons ;  to  dis- 
cover for  them  new-fashioned  hoods,  and  to  devise  new- 
fangled bracelets  and  rich  armlets  —  and  therefore  do  I 
hope,  before  many  months  are  passed  away,  to  bestow 
upon  you  the  hand  of  Queen  Bertha.  Be  certain,  if 
once  she  becomes  your  wife,  she  will  love  you  as  much 
as  she  now  does  me,  and  for  the  same  reason  —  as  a 
matter  of  duty,  because  you  happen  to  be  her  husband. 
Do  not  ask  me,  now,  Rutger,  how  this  can  be  effected. 
Before  many  weeks  are  passed  away,  you  shall  see  that 
I  can  do  more  strange  things  than  unwive  myself,  and 
Avive  you.  Come  now,  Rutger,  to  the  banquet.  I  am 
anxious  to  tell  my  guests  the  strange,  glorious  tidings 
that  have  reached  me,  this  moment,  from  Rome." 

It  was  amid  a  loud  and  boisterous  flourish  of  trum- 
pets, and  preceded  by  his  high  officers  of  state,  that 
Henry  entered  the  banqueting  hall  of  his  palace,  where 


THE  EXCOMMUNICATION.  437 

all  the  great  lords  and  prelates  of  the  empire  stood 
waiting  his  arrival.  Henry  entered  the  hall,  and  as  he 
passed  up,  between  the  bending,  bowing  rows  of  his 
subjects,  never  did  he  seem  so  jubilant  with  triumph, 
and  never  was  there  more  pride  upon  his  brow  nor  a 
more  scornful  haughtiness  upon  his  lip,  which  curled 
with  contempt,  as  he  saw  that  Sigefrid,  the  Archbishop 
of  Mayence,  was  so  deeply  engaged  in  conversation  with 
a  person  in  the  garb  of  a  pilgrim,  that  he  seemed  to  be 
unconscious  of  the  commotion  that  had  been  caused  by 
the  king's  appearance  amongst  his  guests. 

Henry  passed  onward,  and  a  blast  of  triumph  issued 
from  the  trumpets,  and  loud  huzzas  from  the  assembled 
guests,  as  he  was  seen  to  ascend  the  steps  of  the  throne, 
at  the  head  of  the  high  table,  from  which  he  could  be 
observed  in  all  parts  of  the  hall. 

The  trumpets  ceased,  and  the  huzzas  were  subdued, 
when  Henry  was  seen  to  rise  from  his  throne,  and  uplift 
his  sceptred  right  hand,  as  if  he  desired  to  address  the 
assembly. 

"  My  loving  subjects,"  said  Henry,  "  before  I  call  upon 
the  pious  Archbishop  of  Mayence  to  bless  the  food  of 
which  we  are  about  to  partake,  I  wish  to  state  to  you 
strange  tidings  that  have  come  to  me  from  Rome.  I  am 
the  more  desirous  to  do  this,  because  I  am  assured  that  the 
painful  incident  of  which  we  were  all  witnesses  this 
morning,  has  produced  the  impression,  that,  in  contend- 
ing for  our  rights  as  Germans,  against  the  pretensions 
of  the  Roman  pontiff,  heaven  has  proved  itself  the  friend 
of  Hildebrand,  by  punishing,  with  a  sudden  death,  the 
venerable  prelate  of  Utrecht,  at  the  moment  he  was  ex- 
communicating our  foe. 

"  My  fiends,  to  believe  that  the  coincidence  of  acci- 
37* 


438         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

dents  can  constitute  a  miracle,  is  to  indulge  in  a  vain, 
idle,  and  sinful  superstition  —  a  superstition  that  may 
find  disciples  amongst  weak-minded  women  and  unrea- 
soning children,  but  that  should  be  scorned  by  men  of 
sense,  and,  above  all,  repudiated  by  prelates,  priests,  and 
nobles  of  high  rank  and  great  dignity,  like  those  to 
whom  I  now  address  myself. 

"  Heaven  seldom  deigns  to  interfere  directly  in  the 
quarrels  of  mortals,  and  never  has  it  been  known  to 
work  a  miracle  on  behalf  of  a  tyrant  like  Pope  Hilde- 
brand.  If  we  were  to  suppose  that  it  had  been  done 
so  in  Germany,  by  slaying  the  Bishop  of  Utrecht,  be- 
cause the  bishop  denounced  Hiklebrand  as  a  notorious 
and  flagrant  criminal,  how  comes  it  to  pass,  that  heaven 
did  not  interfere  in  Rome,  to  save  Hildebrand,  even  when 
he  was  at  prayers  —  that  it  did  not  prevent  him  being 
torn  from  the  altar  by  his  gray  hairs  —  that  it  did  not 
prevent  him  from  being  wounded  by  the  sword  of  a 
soldier  —  that  it  did  not  prevent  him  being  made  cap- 
tive by  the  Prefect  Cenci  —  that  it  did  not  prevent  him 
from  being  cast  into  a  dungeon  —  yea  —  a  dungeon  even 
in  the  city  of  Pome,  and  in  the  strong  toAver  of  the 
Cenci,  where  he  now  lies  in  chains,  and  liable,  at  any 
moment,  to  be  put  to  death ;  and,  if  the  prefect  Cenci 
so  please,  tortured  previous  to  death  ?  Why,  I  ask,  has 
all  this  happened  ?  Because  the  Romans  have  revolted 
against  the  same  tyrannical  spirit  of  domination  which 
we  complain  of.  If  heaven  looked  favorably  upon  the 
cause  of  Hildebrand,  it  would  release  him  from  the  dun- 
geon of  the  Cenci  —  it  would  punish  them  as  malefac- 
tors—  it  would  restore  Hildebrand  to  his  throne  —  it 
would  cause  the  Romans  to  hail  him  as  their  sovereiu'ii, 
Gregory  VII.  —  and  it  would  empower  Gregory  to  ex-  . 
communicate  his  enemies." 


THE   EXCOMMUNICATION.  439 

^'  And  heaven  has  done  all  this  for  Pope  Gregory,^* 
said  Archbishop  Sigefrid,  rising  from  his  seat,  and  front- 
ing the  king.  "  All  that  your  Majesty  has  supposed  to 
be  impossible,  has  actually  come  to  pass.  Heaven  has 
opened  his  dungeon-doors  for  the  pontiff;  the  Cenci, 
who  laid  sacrilegious  hands  upon  him,  have  fled  from 
Rome  —  the  soldier  who  struck  him  with  a  sword  has 
been  slain.  The  Pope  now  sits  upon  his  throne,  and  — 
Henry  —  King  Heniy,  rend  your  garments,  and  cover 
your  head  with  ashes,  he  has  excommunicated  you  —  he 
has  "pronounced  your  depositiori." 

Henry  was  first  struck  dumb  with  amazement,  when 
he  heard  the  words  of  the  timid  Sigefrid  thus  replying 
to  him :  but  the  old  archbishop's  voice  strengthened,  and 
he  spoke  as  if  he  were  inspired,  when  announcing  events 
that  seemed  to  all  the  hearers  to  be  miracles  —  for  they 
lived  in  times  when  men  believed  in  such  things.  The 
king  shrank  back  in  his  throne  as  if  paralyzed,  and  it 
was  not  till  he  heard  the  archbishop  speak  of  his  depo- 
sition that  all  his  energy  and  violence  of  character  seemed 
to  be  restored  to  him. 

"  Peace  !  babbling,  traitorous  fool !  "  he  exclaimed. 
*'  You  talk  of  dreams,  and  not  of  facts.  What  I  stated 
was  conveyed  to  me  by  a  messenger  who  came  full  speed 
from  Rome.  He  arrived  not  an  hour  ago  ;  and  when 
he  left  Rome  Hildebrand  was  a  prisoner  in  the  tower  of 
Cenci,  and  there,  if  not  dead,  he  doubtless  still  remains." 

"  And  here"  answered  Sigefrid,  "  is  the  messenger 
who  has  come  but  this  moment  from  Rome.  And  here 
is  the  summons  from  the  Pope  to  myself,  to  appear  be- 
fore him  at  Rome,  and  explain,  as  best  I  may,  the  sup- 
port I  have  given  to  you.  Here,  too,  are  briefs,  addressed 
to   the   other  German   bishops,  requiring   them  to  do 


440  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEEOE. 

the  same,  and  here,  in  your  presence,  I  distribute  those 
briefs  to  the  several  bishops  —  let  them  disobey  them  if 
they  dare  —  as  for  myself,  I  shall  proceed  there  bare- 
footed, and  as  a  penitent,  for  I  have  had  a  fearful  warn- 
ing in  the  sudden  death  of  the  reprobate  Bishop  of 
Utrecht,  and  now  —  I  am  no  longer  what  I  was  —  I 
prefer  enduring  the  wrath  of  man,  to  the  wrath  of  God." 

'^  Archbishop  of  Mayence,"  said  Henry,  involuntarily 
quelled  by  the  spirit  thus  displayed  by  Sigefrid  —  in 
itself  a  miracle  —  "I  tell  you  that  you  have  been  de- 
ceived by  some  cogging,  forging  knave.  Who  is  this 
fellow  who  pretends  to  have  travelled  from  Rome  faster 
than  my  messenger  ?  " 

*'  He  is  here ! "  replied  Bernhard,  advancing  to  the 
foot  of  the  throne  on  which  Henry  sat.  "  Your  mes- 
senger hurried  on  his  road  as  men  run  for  gold  —  he  was 
sparing  of  his  life,  that  he  might  enjoy  what  he  had  won 
by  his  race.  I  left  Home  twenty-four  hours  later  than 
he,  and  I  hurried,  too,  on  my  road,  for  I  ran  for  a  prize 
which  I  can  never  hope  to  enjoy  until  my  life  has  ceased 
—  and  therefore  am  I  careless  of  it.  If  I  were  not  — 
I  would  not  tell  your  Majesty  that  which  I  now  an- 
nounce to  you :  that  I  heard  the  Pope  pronounce  ex- 
communication upon  you  —  that  I  heard  him  declare 
your  subjects  freed  from  their  allegiance.  Here  is  the 
sentence.  I  place  it  in  your  hands  —  you  know  the 
Pope's  signatui-e  well,  and  cannot  gainsay  it  —  and  now, 
leaving  that  copy  with  you,  I  call,  in  the  name  of  the 
pontiff — for  so  I  am  authorized  to  do  —  the  Archbishop 
of  Mayence,  to  read  aloud  the  sentence  of  excommuni- 
cation and  deposition  upon  you  —  that  all  may  know  the 
peril  they  incur  in  holding  fui-ther  communion  with  you. 
Sigefrid,  Prince  Archbishop  of  Mayence^  read  the  sen- 


THE    EXCOMMUNICATION.  441 

tence  of  His  Holiness,  Pope  Gregory  VIL,  upon  Henry, 
King  of  Germany." 

"  Audacious  villain!"  exclaimed  Henry,  starting  from 
his  throne,  and  stamping  upon  the  Pope's  brief,  which 
he  had  unthinkingly  accepted  from  the  hands  of  Bern- 
hard,  "  have  I  no  friend  here  to  strike  him  dead  ? " 

Scarcely  had  the  words  been  uttered,  w^hen  Diedrich 
rushed  upon  Bernhard  with  his  drawn  dagger.  The 
wary  forester  watched  the  hand  of  Diedrich  as  it  descend- 
ed, and  grappling  the  wrist  with  one  hand,  and  dashing 
down  the  other  like  a  sledge  hammer  upon  the  rigid 
knuckles  that  held  the  fatal  w^eapon,  and  driving  his 
head,  at  the  same  instant,  into  the  face  of  Diedrich,  he 
felled  him  to  the  earth,  and  kneeling  upon  the  breast  of 
the  fallen  savage,  he  waved  his  wood-knife  before  his 
eyes  for  a  moment,  and  then  whispered  in  his  ear  — 

"  For  the  sake  of  Gertraud,  slain  by  the  soldiers  of 
this  brutal  king,  I  spare  thy  life,  and  say  to  thee  the  last 
words  to  which  she  gave  utterance :  '  Tell  Diedrich  that 
my  last  prayer  was  for  his  sincere  repentance  ;  bid  him 
seek  for  it  through  the  intercession  of  the  Blessed  Vir- 
gin.' These  words  she  bade  me  say  to  thee  —  I  repeat 
them;  think  of  them  —  go,  and  repent  of  thy  sins." 

"  Humph ! "  exclaimed  Diedrich  as  he  rose  fi-om  the 
ground  ;  and,  without  looking  at  his  opponent  or  the 
king,  he  thoughtfully  left  the  apartment. 

This  struggle,  for  a  minute,  between  two  men  so  une- 
qually matched  as  the  thick,  muscular  giant,  Diedrich, 
and  the  apparently  weak,  lank,  but  still  wiry,  Bernhard, 
was  witnessed  by  the  entire  assembly ;  and  men  mar- 
velled much  to  see  how  quickly  Diedrich  had  been  over- 
thrown by  the  forester ;  and  they  marvelled  still  more 
to  see  one  like  Diedrich,  so  notorious  for  his  ferocity, 


442  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

pass  away  from  the  presence  of  his  opponent  as  if  he 
had  been  completely  quelled  by  him.  Trifling  as  the 
incident  might  be  regarded  in  itself,  it  was  considered 
as  another  of  the  strange  and  miraculous  events  that  had 
already  marked  the  progress  of  that  eventful  day. 

As  to  Bernhard,  he  watched  Diedrich  until  he  saw 
that  he  had  actually  departed  from  the  banquet  hall,  and 
then,  from  the  place  where  the  conflict  between  the  two 
had  occurred,  at  the  foot  of  the  throne  of  Henry,  he 
spoke  again,  in  a  loud  and  commanding  tone,  and  his 
voice  was  now  listened  to  by  those  present  as  one  who 
spoke  with  authority  : 

"  Sigefrid,  Prince  Archbishop  of  Mayence,  by  the 
allegiance  you  owe  to  your  spiritual  superior,  I  now  call 
•upon  you  —  I  require  of  you  —  and  I  do  so  in  the  name 
of  Pope  Gregory  VII.,  to  read  the  deposition  of  the  man 
before  whose  throne  I  now  stand." 

Henry  looked  down,  from  his  throne,  upon  his  lords 
and  the  bishops  of  the  empire ;  but  he  found  that  the 
faces  of  all  were  turned  away  from  him,  and  directed 
towards  the  Archbishop  of  Mayence. 

Sigefrid,  the  Archbishop,  unfolded  the  parchment  that 
had  been  placed  in  his  hands  by  Bernhai-d,  and  read 
aloud  its  contents  :  — 

''  Tlie  deposition  of  King  Henry,  the  son  of  the  Emperor 
Henry,  and  the  absolution  from  their  oaths  of  all  who 
have  sworn  allegiance  to  him. 

"  O,  blessed  Peter !  Prince  of  the  Apostles,  incline 
thy  pious  ears  to  us,  ami  hear  me  thy  servant,  whom, 
from  my  infancy,  thou  didst  nourish,  and  that  thou  hast 
even  until  this  day  saved  from  the  hands  of  the  wicked, 


THE  EXCOMMUNICATION.  443 

•wlio  have  hated,  and  who  still  detest  me,  because  of  my 
fidelity  to  thee.  Be  then  my  witness,  and  with  thee,  our 
Sovereign  Lady,  the  Mother  of  God,  and  the  Blessed 
Paul,  thy  brother  amongst  all  the  other  saints,  that  thy 
holy  Roinan  Church  dragged  me,  in  my  own  despite,  to 
its  government ;  and  that  I  would  have  far  preferred 
to  end  my  days  in  exile,  rather  than  by  human  means  to 
usurp  thy  place.  And,  as  I  believe  that  it  is  through 
thy  gracioxft  favor,  and  not  by  my  own  works,  that  it  has 
been  pleasing,  and  is  still  pleasing  to  thee,  that  the 
Christian  people  specially  committed  to  thee,  should  obey 
me,  and  that,  through  thy  grace,  power  is  given  me  on 
this  behalf  from  God,  of  binding  and  of  loosing,  both  in 
heaven  and  on  earth. 

"  It  is  in  this  confidence,  and  for  the  honor  and  de- 
fence of  thy  Church,  and  in  the  name  of  the  Omnipo- 
tent Trinity,  and  through  thy  power  and  authority,  that 
I  forbid  Henry,  the  King,  and  son  of  the  Emperor 
Henry,  who,  by  an  unheard-of  pride,  has  rebelled  against 
thy  Church,  to  exercise  longer  any  power  as  a  Sovereign 
over  the  Empire  of  the  Germans  or  in  Italy,  and  that  I 
absolve  from  their  oaths  of  allegiance  which  all  Chris- 
tians have  made  or  still  render  unto  him ;  at  the  same 
time  I  interdict  any  one  from  serving  him  as  King. 
And  this  I  do,  because  it  is  fitting  that  he  who  endeav- 
ors and  studies  to  diminish  the  honor  that  is  due  to  thy 
Church,  should  lose  those  honors  and  that  dignity  which 
he  himself  appears  to  possess.  And,  because,  as  a  Chris- 
tian, he  has  contemned  obedience,  and  will  not  return 
to  the  Lord,  whom  he  has  abandoned,  by  holding  com- 
munion with  those  that  are  excommunicated,  and  that 
he  persists  in  perpetrating  many  iniquities,  and  despising 
those  warnings,  which  (thou  art  my  witness)  were  alone 


444  THE  POPE  AND   THE  EMPEROR. 

given  by  me  to  him  for  the  sake  of  his  own  salvation ; 
and  as  he  has  separated  himself  from  thy  Church,  and 
seeks  still  to  produce  a  schism  in  it,  I  do,  in  thy  name, 
now  bind  him  with  the  fetters  of  excommunication,  so 
that  all  nations  may  know  and  experience  that  thou  art 
Peter,  and  thou  the  rock  upon  which  the  Son  of  God  has 
built  liis  Church,  and  that  the  gates  of  hell  shall  not 
prevail  against  it."  * 

Sigefrid,  upon  reading  this  document,  hauded  it  to  his 
attendant  chaplain,  and  said  : 

*'  This  document  must  be  enrolled  in  the  archives  of 
the  Chiu'ch  of  Mayence.  Let  it  be  there  indorsed  by 
you,  as  a  witness,  that  it  was  read  by  me,  in  the  presence 
of  the  king,  and  of  the  assembled  princes  and  prelates 
of  the  empire.  And  here,"  he  continued,  "  receive  also 
my  crosier  and  mitre.  Retain  possession  of  them  until 
I  am  authorized  by  the  pontiff  to  resume  them.  I  now 
set  forth  upon  my  pilgrimage  to  Rome,  and  I  invite  all 
the  other  German  bishops,  who  are,  like  me,  summoned 
there  as  sinners,  as  unworthy  shepherds  of  the  flocks 
confided  to  our  care,  to  accompany  me  on  my  way 
thither.  As  to  this  place,"  observed  Sigefrid,  looking 
around  the  banquet  hall,  and  at  the  throne  on  which 
Henry  remained  still  sitting,  "  it  is  accursed  as  long  as 
one  stricken  by  anathema  remains  in  it,  and  no  Chris- 
tian can,  without  involving  himself  in  the  penalties  of 
an  excommunication,  continue  to  abide  here.  Away- 
then,  one  and  all  —  avoid  it  as  if  pestilence  clung  to  its 
walls,  and  death  stood  in  its  doorway.     Remember  the 

*  This  is  a  literal  translation  of  "  the  excommunication  and  deposition  " 
of  Henry  IV.,  promulgated  by  Pope  Gregory  YII.  The  author  believes 
this  is  the  first  time  it  has  ever  been  translated  and  published  in  the  Eng- 
lish language. 


THE   EXCOMMUNICATION.  445 

doom  of  the  anti-papal  Bishop  of  Utrecht,  and  let  us  be 
careful  we  do  not  tread  in  the  footsteps  of  one  who  now 
howls  a  demon  in  hell." 

The  words  of  the  archbishop  were  followed  by  a  sud- 
den rush  from  the  apartment ;  for  fear  and  horror  had 
seized  upon  the  hearts  of  all,  and  each  man  dreaded  that 
he  might,  by  seeming  to  side  with  Henry,  be  compro- 
mised in  his  guilt,  and  incur  the  same  awful  punishment 
which  they  themselves  had  seen  inflicted  upon  the  rep- 
robate no-popery  Bishop  of  Utrecht. 

The  tables  had  been  spread  for  a  sumptuous  banquet  — 
but  the  viands  and  the  wine  remained  untasted  —  the 
gold  and  silver  vessels  untouched  —  the  seats  arranged 
with  a  due  attention  to  the  rank  of  the  bidden  guests 
unoccupied,  and  there,  amid  the  sun-light  glare,  cast  by 
a  thousand  lights,  upon  a  scene  glistening  on  all  sides 
with  gorgeous  decorations,  sat,  in  his  lofty  throne,  alone, 
with  not  one  friendly  eye  to  greet  him,  nor  one  head 
to  bow  down  before  him,  Henry  —  the  excommunicated 
King  of  Germany ! 

But  a  few  moments  before,  he  had  entered,  the  proud- 
est monarch  in  Christendom,  and  now  !  upon  the  mere 
recital  of  a  few  words,  dictated  by  one  old  man,  and  re- 
peated by  another,  and,  the  latter  one  so  weak  and  timid, 
that  he  had  been  an  object  of  constant  derision  to  his 
sovereign,  yet  that  sovereign  now  found  himself  aban- 
doned by  all  the  officers  of  state,  whose  duty  it  was  to 
wait  personally  upon  him,  as  the  head  of  the  German 
empire — forsaken  by  his  princes,  abjiu'ed  by  his  prel- 
ates, deserted  by  his  military  retainers,  and  not  supported 
even  by  the  presence  of  a  single  menial ! 

It  was  a  change  so   unexpected,  so  sudden,  and   so 

h 


446         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

a"wful,  tliat  though  seen,  and  even  though  bitterly  ex- 
perienced as  it  was  by  Henry,  was  still  scarcely  credible. 

Henry  sat  unmoved,  whilst  Sigefrid  was  reading  the 
formal  announcement  of  his  deposition  and  excommuni- 
cation. He  did  so,  hoping  that  some  one  would  slay  the 
old  archbishop ;  but  rage  entered  into  his  heart,  and 
seemed  to  consume  his  vitals,  when  he  heard  that  "  cow- 
ard," as  he  was  wont  to  call  him,  bid  the  subjects  of  his 
king  abandon  their  sovereign,  if  they  would  not  expose 
themselves  to  the  pains  of  perdition.  That  burning  rage 
was,  however,  speedily  followed  by  the  chilling  sick- 
ness of  despair,  when  he  beheld  all,  all  —  even  those 
worthless  creatures  upon  whom  he  had  lavished  the 
treasures  of  his  kingdom,  fly  from  his  presence,  as  if 
there  were  contamination  in  his  touch,  and  that  he,  of 
all  living  things,  was,  at  that  moment,  the  most  noisome, 
the  most  pestilent,  and  the  most  accursed. 

Henry  gazed  around  the  banquet  hall.  It  was  de- 
serted —  and  the  silence  seemed  to  extend  beyond  its 
precincts,  as  if  not  merely  it,  but  the  whole  of  the  pal- 
ace fortress  had  been  abandoned,  and  he  alone  was  left 
out  of  the  hundreds  that  had  crowded  its  apartments, 
and  hitherto  had  manned  its  walls.  So  complete  was 
the  silence,  that  he  could  hear  the  beatings  of  his 
own  heart. 

Henry  gazed  again  and  again,  but  could  not  believe 
the  reality.  He  rubbed  his  eyes,  as  if  he  doubted  that 
he  could  be  awake,  and  that  all  this  was  not  a  horrid 
dream. 

"  It  must  be  a  dream  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  It  cannot 
be  a  truth.  What !  forsaken  —  abandoned  by  all !  A 
king  but  a  minute  ago,  and  now  deposed.     0,  monstrous  ! 


THE  EXCOMMUNICATION.  447 

it  cannot  be  a  truth.  It  must  —  it  shall  be  a  mockery. 
What  —  ho  !  there  —  some  wine.  I  doom  to  death  the 
man  who  dares  to  disobey  me.  Wine  —  I  say  —  the 
king  commands  it  —  where  stands  my  Mundschenk  ? 
Gone !  gone !  all  gone.  They  have  left  their  king 
alone  !  and  they  pay  their  coui't  to  the  old  wicked  Pope 
at  Rome.  Cowards  —  base,  drivelling  cowards  —  thus 
to  fear  the  vain  words  of  the  prisoner  of  Cenci.  Curses 
upon  Cenci,  why  did  he  not  slay  Hildebrancl  in  his  dun- 
geon. Curses  !  ah !  I  can  but  curse  now  —  I  am  alone  ! 
alone  !  utterly  despised,  utterly  neglected,  utterly  con- 
temned.     My  foes  triumph  over  me." 

As  Henry  spoke  these  words,  the  silence,  that  seemed 
to  encircle  him  like  a  shroud,  was  rent  asunder  by  loud, 
joyous  cheers,  that  seemed  to  burst  in  upon  him  as  they 
came  from  a  vast  multitude  gathered  in  thousands  out- 
side the  walls  of  the  fortress. 

"  Hark  !  "  cried  Henry,  "  I  guessed  truly,  my  enemies 
do  triumph  over  me.  They  come  to  witness  the  fallen 
condition  of  their  king  ;  they  come,  perchance,  to  make 
me  prisoner,  to  drag  me  in  chains,  a  captive,  to  sue  for 
mercy  and  pardon  from  Hildebrand.  Villains  and  trai- 
tors, they  shall  find  that  Henry,  the  deposed,  can  die  as 
a  king,  although  they  have  abjured  their  allegiance  to 
him." 

As  Henry  spoke  these  words,  he  started  from  his 
throne,  drew  his  sword,  and  seizing  a  shield,  stood  front- 
ing the  doorway,  like  a  man  who  believes  he  is  about  to 
forfeit  his  life,  and  is  determined  that,  in  his  downf  dl, 
others  shall  be  dragged  to  death  along  with  him. 

"  What  mean  these  cheers,  slave  ?  "  said  Henry,  to  a 
single,  unarmed  man,  as  he  entered  the  hall. 

*'  The  cheers  that  you  hear/'  said  Bernhard,  for  it  was 


448         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROE. 

to  him  that  Henry  had  addressed  himself,  "  are  those  of 
a  rejoicing  city.  The  people  of  Frankfort  thus  welcome 
amongst  them,  Magnus,  Duke  of  Saxony,  who  has  been 
restored  to  liberty  in  exchange  for  seventy  Swabians, 
captured  in  Erzegebirge." 

"  Magnus  free  !  Erzegebirge  taken !  "  cried  Henry, 
forgetting,  for  the  moment,  his  own  grief  in  these  unex- 
pected tidings.  "  Know  you  what  has  become  of  Egen, 
and  of  a  captive  lady  of  whom  he  had  charge  ?  " 

"I  do,"  answered  Bernhard.  "The  lady  has  been 
restored  to  her  family.  She  is  now  safe  from  further 
aggression.  As  to  Egen,  his  life  has  been  spared;  but 
he  has  been  punished  as  a  perjurer  and  a  reprobate."     ^ 

Henry  sank  back  on  one  of  the  seats  provided  for  his 
guests.  This  last  intelligence  seemed  to  have  conquered 
him  ;  for  he  lay  panting,  breathless,  and  exhausted,  like 
a  knight  that,  overpowered  by  wearing  his  armor  during 
a  hot  summer's  day,  has,  at  its  close,  been  stricken  down 
at  last,  by  the  weak  blow  of  a  pikeman.  He  raised  his 
eyes  heavily  to  the  face  of  Bernhard,  and  faihng  to  rec- 
ognize his  features,  he  murmured  forth : 

"  Baffled  by  slaves,  defeated  by  dotards,  deserted  by 
warriors,  forsaken  by  all,  rejected  by  all,  by  God,  and 
by  man  —  alone !  alone  !  alone  !  " 

As  he  spoke  these  words,  his  eyes  closed,  his  senses 
failed,  and  he  lay  extended,  motionless,  and  pale,  as  if 
he  were  a  disregarded  corpse,  in  the  rich  banqueting 
hall  of  his  kingly  palace  fortress ! 


THE  FAREWELL.  449 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 

THE  FAREWELL. 

BiANCA  acd  Beatrice  were  kneeling  together  before 
the  same  altar,  in  a  small,  dark  chapel  attached  to  the 
mansion  of  ths  Countess  Adela.  The  few  gleams  of 
light  that  penetrated  tlii-ough  the  sombre  painted  win- 
dows of  the  chapel,  rested  on  those  two  lone,  silent, 
heart-broken  females,  whose  habiliments  denoted  that  the 
one  had  abandoned,  and  that  the  other  was  about  to  bid 
farewell  to,  the  external  affairs  of  this  world.  Bianca 
wore  the  habit  of  a  professed  nun  ;  her  daughter,  Bea- 
trice, still  retained  her  novice-dress,  which  she  had  first 
assumed  in  the  palace  of  King  Henry. 

Bianca  and  Beatrice  spoke  not  one  word  to  each  other  ; 
but  the  deep  groan  and  the  long-drawn  sigh  that  came 
occasionally  from  the  breast  of  both,  showed  that  the 
scene  of  horror  thay  had  witnessed  in  the  great  church 
of  Frankfort,  still  tilled  them  with  a  poignant  grief, 
which  pious  thoughts  and  humble  prayers  had,  as  yet, 
been  unable  to  assuage. 

Thus  they  knelt,  in  profound  devotion  and  in  silent 
sorrow,  when  the  Countess  Adela  crept  into  the  chapel, 
and  bowing  down,  for  a  moment,  before  the  altar,  and 
there  giving  utterance  to  a  short  prayer,  again  stood  up, 
and  laving  her  hands  upon  the  shoulders  of  the  mother 
and  daughter,  she  said  : 

"  My  dear  friends,  I  wish  to  speak  with  you." 

Bianca  and  Beatrice  made  the  sign  of  the  cross  on 
their  foreheads,  and  both,  at  the  same  instant,  rose  fi-om 
theii"  knees. 

38* 


450  THE  POPE   AND  THE  EMPEROE. 

**  My  dear  friends/'  said  Adela,  "  I  am  the  bearer  of 
a  message  to  you  both.  My  relative,  Magnus,  Duke  of 
Saxony,  claims  permission  to  have  an  interview  with  the 
Lady  Bianca  and  her  daughter  Beatrice." 

*'  Brave  !  truthful !  generous  Magnus  !  "  ejaculated 
Bianca.     **  O,  if  all  men  had  been  but  like  to " 

Tears  here  choked  her  utterance,  she  hid  her  face,  for 
a  moment,  on  the  shoulder  of  the  countess,  so  that  her 
daughter  might  not  perceive  the  flood  of  scalding  tears 
that  gushed  from  her  eyes. 

The  name  of  Magnus  was  as  a  magic  sound  in  the  ears 
of  Beatrice.  For  an  instant,  but  so  brief  was  the  space 
of  time  that  it  could  scarcely  be  called  an  instant,  there 
was  a  smile  upon  her  mouth,  and  joy  in  her  eyes,  but  it 
was  quickly  followed  by  a  cold  shiver,  that  ran  through 
her  frame,  and  that  struck  to  her  heart,  as  if  the  thought 
that  filled  her  mind  was  barbed  with  despair.  She  clung 
to  the  altar-railings  for  support,  but  she  spoke  not  a 
word. 

Adela  waited  for  the  first  ebullition  of  feeling  on  the 
part  of  the  mother  and  daughter  to  pass  away  before  she 
resumed  her  discourse. 

*'  My  cousin,  Magnus,  desires,"  she  said,  '^  to  speak 
with  you  both.  I  suppose,  Bianca,  you  surmise  the  pur- 
port of  his  visit." 

"1  do  —  I  do,"  hurriedly  answered  Bianca,  "  and, 
therefore,  I  will  not  see  him.  His  happiness  —  happi- 
ness to  which  his  virtues  fully  entitle  him  —  shall  not 
be  blighted  by  the  aspect  of  her  who  is  now  a  widow, 
but  has  never  been  a  wife.  My  child,  Beatrice,  is  now 
an  orphan  —  as  lone  and  desolate  as  an  orphan,  but  also 
as  independent,  as  free,  and  as  imcontrollcd  in  her  ac- 
tions as  an  orphan.     She  has  no  iathcr  to  please  —  and 


THE   FAREWELL.  451 

her  mother,  whatsoever  she  may  now  do,  she  cannot  dis- 
please. I  am  as  one  dead  to  this  workl,  I  have,  in 
assuming  the  habit  of  a  nun,  renounced  it,  and  I  will 
not  again  mingle  in  its  affairs,  even  to  control  the  actions 
of  my  child  ,•  for  I  know  her  to  be  wise,  and  good,  and 
virtuous.  Go,  then,  Beatrice,  with  the  Countess  Adeia. 
See  the  Duke  Magnus  —  hear  what  he  says  —  be  pre- 
pared :  for  he  will  ask  your  hand  in  marriage,  and,  hav- 
ing received  his  proposal,  then  decide  for  yourself;  but, 
remember  that  whatever  be  your  decision,  it  is  one  not 
for  to-day,  nor  to-morrow,  but  for  all  the  days  of  your 
life  —  for  this  world,  and  for  the  next.  Go,  my  child. 
I  bless  you  as  you  go  ;  and  before  I  know  what  your 
decision  may  be,  I  bestow  upon  it  my  blessing.  Say 
nought  to  me  now  —  let  the  next  word  you  speak  be 
addressed  to  Magnus  —  to  brave,  generous,  virtuous 
Magnus,  who  now  regards  you  as  his  betrothed." 

Beatrice  knelt  down,  in  order  that  she  might  receive, 
on  her  knees,  a  mother's  blessing.  Bianca  blessed  her, 
kissed  her  on  the  forehead,  and  then,  turning  to  the  al- 
tar, resumed  those  devotions  which  had  been  interrupted 
by  the  entrance  of  the  countess. 

Adela,  placing  her  arm  around  the  delicate  waist  of 
Beatrice,  conducted,  or  rather  supported  her,  into  the 
chamber  in  which  INIagnus  awaited  the  coming,  as  he 
supposed,  of  Bianca  and  her  daughter. 

The  moment  that  Magnus  perceived  Beatrice  thus  led 
into  the  room  —  so  beautiful,  but  yet  so  changed  from 
what  she  had  been  when  he  greeted  her  beneath  the 
beech  tree  in  the  woods  of  Aschaffenburg,  his  first  im- 
pulse was  to  rush  forward  and  kiss  her  hand  :  but  this 
was  suddenly  checked ;  and  he  felt,  he  knew  not  where- 
fore, his  heart  oppressed  with  a  sentiment  of  hopeless 
sorrow. 


452         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

*'  Good  God  !  "  he  said,  in  a  voice  that  was  so  Iotv  and 
heart-broken  in  its  tones,  that  it  seemed  to  be  a  whis- 
pered sigh,  ''  you  are  ill,  Beatrice." 

Beatrice  looked  at  him.  It  was  a  long,  intense  gaze, 
as  if  she  would  concentrate,  in  that  prolonged  view,  all 
the  happiness  that  earth  could  give  her  ;  for,  she  was 
happy  to  observe  that  the  imprisonment  he  had  endured, 
and  the  dangers  to  which  he  had  been  exposed,  had  but 
added  to  his  manly  graces  and  noble  beauty,  by  adorning 
his  brow  with  the  wisdom  of  a  statesman,  and  the  gal- 
lant bearing  of  a  warrior. 

Beatrice  spoke  not  to  Magnus  ;  but,  as  she  looked  at 
him,  she  extended  to  him  her  hand.  He  seized  it  eager- 
ly, and  impressed  upon  it  a  burning  kiss.  As  Beatrice 
felt  that  kiss  upon  her  hand,  she  shuddered,  and,  turning 
to  the  Countess  Adela,  said  :  — 

"  Noble  lady,  generous  friend,  you  watched  over  me 
as  a  mother,  Avhcn  cruel  and  wicked  men  had  torn  me 
from  the  arms  of  a  mother.  I  feel  for  you  the  love  and 
veneration  of  a  mother,  and  I  fear  the  influence  of  your 
words  and  looks  upon  me,  in  this  interview  with  Mag- 
nus. As  my  mother  has  left  every  thing  to  my  decision, 
so  I  jDray  you  also  to  do.  Let  that  decision  be  unbiased 
—  let  it  be,  as  I  hope  you  will  deem  it  to  be,  deserving 
of  your  approval  —  but  leave  to  me  my  last  consolation 
in  this  world  —  the  reflection  that  it  is  one  worthy  of 
Magnus,  and  of  myself.  Suffer  me  to  be  alone  with 
God,  and  with  Magnus." 

"Willingly  —  most  willingly,  my  dearest  child,"  re- 
plied Adela ;  "  for  that  which  you  now  propose  to  me, 
I  was  myself  about  to  suggest.  It  is  but  fitting  that 
you  should  be  alone  with  Magnus,  for  he  comes  to  ask 
your  hand  in  marriage,  and  he  does  so  with  the  full  ap- 


THE   FAREWELL.  453 

proval  of  his  uncle  Otlio,  Duke  of  Bavaria,  of  the  Count 
Dedi,  and  of  myself." 

"With  these  Avords  Adela  quitted  the  room,  and  thus 
left  alone  the  two  lovers. 

A  silence  of  a  few  moments  succeeded.  It  was  first 
broken  by  Magnus. 

"  You  have  heard,  beloved  of  my  childhood,"  he  said, 
"  the  purpose  of  my  visit  explained  by  my  cousin,  Adela. 
The  happiness  that  I  have  dreamed  of,  from  my  boyhood, 
is  now  mine  —  I  can,  in  the  face  of  day,  before  the  as- 
sembled world,  claim  you  —  my  own,  my  beloved,  my 
charming,  my  virtuous,  my  persecuted  Beatrice,  for  my 
wife." 

Beatrice  covered  her  face,  and  wept  bitterly. 

"  Tears  !  "  continued  Magnus.  "  Tears  !  when  I  de- 
mand your  hand  in  marriage.  Beatrice,  do  you  not  love 
me  ?  I  do  not  ask,  with  a  love  like  to  mine,  for  that  is 
a  species  of  adoration  —  but,  do  you  not  love  me  ?  " 

"  Love  you !  "  answered  Beatrice,  her  pale  cheek 
crimsoning  with  excitement,  when  she  spoke.  "  Love 
you,  do  you  say,  Magnus  ?  Hear  me,  for  I  am  in  such 
a  position  that  I  can  speak  my  thoughts  more  freely  than 
maidens  are  wont  to  do.  If,  from  the  time  that  our  joy- 
ous hours  were  passed  together,  on  the  sweet  shores  of 
the  Lago  Maggiore,  I  have,  at  morning,  prayed  for  you ; 
at  noonday  conversed,  in  fancy,  with  you  —  at  night 
dreamed  of  you  ;  and  always  as  a  being  that,  bearing  the 
form  of  a  man,  had  a;ll  the  sweetness  of  a  seraph  —  if 
this  be  love,  I  have  loved  you,  and  I  still  love  you.  If 
the  sparkling  dew-drop,  as  it  glittered,  reminded  me  of 
you  ;  if  the  perfumed  rose  recalled  you  to  my  thoughts  ; 
if  the  gorgeous  sun  seemed  to  set  in  all  its  glorv,  but  to 
bring  back  to  my  heart  an  image  of  you ;  if  this  be  love, 
t  have  loved,  and  do  love  you." 


454         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROE. 

"  Speak  on,  speak  on,"  said  Magnus,  dropping  npon 
his  knees,  and  clasping  the  clay-cold  hand  of  Beatrice  — 
"  speak  on,  angelic  Beatrice,  for  there  is  rapture  in  every 
word,  and  ecstasy  in  every  sentence,  to  which  you  give 
utterance." 

'^  Love  you,  Magnus,  dear  Magnus,"  said  Beatrice, 
looking  down  upon  him,  as  he  knelt  before  her.  "  1 
have  loved  you,  as  I  believe  the  angels,  in  heaven  above, 
love  each  other  ;  for  mine  has  been  a  love  untainted  by 
a  single  thought  of  self;  it  was  a  love  that  was  in  you, 
and  for  you,  and  that  shone  upon  you,  though  you  felt 
it  not,  as  the  sunbeam  illuminates  the  senseless  flower. 
Such  was  my  love,  such  is  my  love,  such  ever  shall  be 
my  love  for  you,  Magnus  -,  but,  I  never  can  be  your 
wife."    ' 

"  Not  my  wife  !  "  cried  Magnus,  starting  up  with  hor- 
ror, as  he  heard  these  words.  "  Not  my  wife  !  Good 
Heavens  !  Beatrice,  what  do  you  mean,  by  speaking  thus 
to  me  ? " 

"  That  I  love  you  more  than  myself,"  answered  Bea- 
trice, bursting  into  tears.  "  Listen  to  me,  Magnus, 
listen  patiently,  for  I  speak  to  you  as  if  I  were  speaking 
in  the  confessional.  I  desire  to  lay  bare  my  entire  heart 
before  you.  If  it  had  pleased  God  that  I  should  have 
been  born  in  the  same  rank  of  life  with  yourself,  I  do 
believe  that  never  yet  was  created,  nor  could  there  be  in 
this  world,  a  being  so  happy  as  I  should  be  at  this  mo- 
ment, in  frankly  placing  my  hand  in  yours,  and  saying, 
*  Take  me,  Magnus  —  make  me,  beloved  of  my  heart, 
your  wife ;  for  you  take  one  whose  love  can  never  know 
a  change,  and  whose  affection  for  you  can  only  cease 
with  her  existence.'  Thus  freely  would  I  speak  to  you, 
dearest  Magnus,  if  I  were  the  daughter  of  a  duke,  and 


THE  FAREWELL.  455 

that  you  asked  me  in  marriage.  Nay,  were  I  even  the 
daughter  of  a  count,  of  a  tungin,  of  a  freeman,  I  would 
so  speak,  because  I  coukl  look  all  your  princely  relatives 
in  the  face,  and  say,  I  am  not  as  grandly  born  as  you, 
but  I  am  greater,  because  I  am  happier  than  you,  for  I 
am  the  wife  of  my  beloved  —  of  Magnus.  If  I  were 
but  the  daughter  of  an  honest  man,  I  could  do  this,  and 
thus  would  I  act :  because  I  could  bring  no  dishonor 
upon  them,  and  tarnish  you  with  no  shame," 

"  But,  Beatrice,"  said  ]Magnus,  "  in  marrying  me  you 
become  the  wife  of  the  Duke  of  Saxony,  and  though  you 
were  the  daughter  of  a  slave,  none  dare  reproach  you 
with  the  accident  of  your  birth.  More  than  one  sov- 
ereign has,  before  now,  placed  a  crown  upon  the  brows 
of  a  female  slave  ;  and  some  were  slaves  without  a  par- 
ticle of  your  virtue,  and  none  possessed  a  thousandth 
part  of  your  beauty." 

"  And  the  world,"  replied  Beatrice,  "  still  reproaches 
the  memories  of  many  of  those  sovereigns  for  their  weak 
nature,  and  their  grovelling  tastes.  But  mine  is  a  worse 
case  than  any  that  you  cite.  A  slave  may  be  an  honest 
man  ;  a  female  slave  may  have  been  nobly  —  nay,  even 
royally  born,  like  the  sainted  Queen  Bathildes  of  France. 
You  say  that  you  can,  in  the  face  of  day,  and  before  the 
assembled  world,  claim  me  as  your  wife.  Dearest  Mag- 
nus, you  cannot  do  so ;  for  if  I  once  appeared  before 
the  world  as  your  wife,  it  would  cry  shame  upon  me,  and 
shame  upon  you.  And  it  w^ould  do  so  rightfully,  for  my 
existence  is  a  shame  —  my  life  a  reproach  —  my  very 
being  a  scandal  to  the  church,  of  which  I  am  an  unwor- 
thy member." 

.  "  O,  Beatrice,"  said  Magnus,   shocked  to  hear  such 
language  applied  to  herself  by  his  beloved,  "  you  wrong 


456  THE  POPE  AND   THE  EMPEROR. 

the  world,  and  you  wrong  much  more  yourself.  It 
would  readily  recognize  that  you,  who  scorned  the  offer 
of  a  crown,  when  tendered  to  you  by  a  wicked  king, 
were  but  fittingly  decorated  with  a  coronet,  when  be- 
stowed upon  you  by  one  who  has  ever  loved  you  for 
your  virtues. 

*'  It  is  not  so,  Magnus,"  replied  Beatrice.  "  Even  at 
your  marriage  festival  the  Bishop  of  Utrecht  would  come 
from  his  dishonored  grave  to  sit  amongst  your  guests, 
and  his  name  would  be  whispered  by  the  meanest  menial 
that  crawled  at  your  feet.  The  schismatic  priest's  child 
—  the  child  of  sacrilege  and  of  sin,  can  never  become 
the  mother  of  a  child  to  reproach  her  with  the  infamy 
of  its  birth.  If  I  married  you,  it  would  be  but  to  per- 
petuate disgi'ace,  and  to  retain,  in  living  forms,  that  in- 
famy, which,  dying  with  me,  will  be  forgotten.  I  stand 
in  this  world  an  accursed  thing.  There  is  poison  in  my 
blood,  and  if  it  commingled  Avith  yours,  would  attach  in 
perpetuity  to  the  princely  house  of  Saxony  a  stain  which 
an  ocean  of  tears,  if  I  were  to  shed  them,  hereafter, 
could  never  efface.  No,  Magnus,  I  am  a  blot  upon  the 
face  of  nature  —  by  my  birth  a  leper;  and  instead  of 
daring  to  associate  myself  with  the  rest  of  mankind,  I 
should  hide  my  shame  from  their  sight ;  for  they  cannot 
look  upon  me  without  being  reminded  that  there  once 
stood  at  the  holy  altar  a  man  who  lived  for  years  a 
sacrilegious  sinner.  That  which  I  ought  to  do,  I  will 
do.  Believe  me,  dearest  Magnus,  from  the  first  moment 
that  the  horrid  truth  was  first  told  to  me  by  my  gallant 
grandsire  —  the  truly  brave  Albani  —  I  conceived  that 
plan  which  I  now  mean  to  carry  into  execution.  It  is 
to  follow  the  example  of  my  mother,  and  of  the  Empress 
Agnes  —  to  take  the  habit  of  a  nun  —  to  proceed  with 


THE   FAREWELL.  457 

botli  to  Italy,  and  in  the  same  convent  where  my  mother 
was  educated,  there  shall  she  and  I  both  lay  down  our 
lives  ;  and  heaven  grant,  for  the  honor  of  the  church, 
that,  in  our  graves,  the  criminal,  the  awful  and  sinful 
life  of  my  miserable  father  may  be  forever  shrouded 
from  the  memory  of  mankind !  " 

"  Beatrice,  my  own  beloved  Beatrice,"  said  Magnus, 
pausing,  as  if  every  syllable  stung  him  with  an  agony 
that  convulsed  his  heart,  "  the  words  you  speak  to  me 
are  so  strange,  so  terrible,  so  unexpected,  that,  pardon 
me  if  I  fail  to  see  at  once  the  dreadful  conclusion  to 
which  they  tend.  Can  it  be,  that  you  actually  mean  to 
say,  that  because  of  a  crime  —  a  sin,  of  which  you  are 
as  innocent  as  of  any  crime  or  sin  that  may  be  commit- 
ted a  hundred  years  hence,  that  you  therefore  will  not  — 
for  the  determination  rests  with  you  alone  —  that  you 
will  not  become  my  wife  ?  Do  I  understand  you  aright, 
that  this  is  your  answer  to  my  proposal  of  marriage  ?  " 

"It  is  my  answer,  Magnus,"  said  Beatrice.  "And 
listen  farther  ;  so  convinced  am  I  that  I  am  right,  that 
though  I  love  you  more,  I  believe,  than  any  wife  ever 
yet  loved  her  husband,  yet  sooner  than  dishonor  you, 
and  perpetuate  my  infamous  birth  by  marriage  —  that 
sacrament  so  sacrilegiously  violated  by  my  pope-abjuring 
father,  I  would  willingly  see  myself,  as  an  infamous  wo- 
man, condemned  to  the  stake,  and  this  poor  weak  body 
consumed  by  fire.  And  this  I  would  do,  Magnus  — 
because  my  love  for  you  is  not  the  love  of  a  woman  — 
because  I  prefer  you  to  myself,  because  I  love  you  more 
than  myself ;  because  I  prefer  your  fame,  and  the  fame 
of  your  familv,  which,  considering  your  high  and  ex- 
alted rank,  is  part  of  yourself,  to  my  own  pure,  ardent, 
and  unceasing  affection  for  you." 
39 


458  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEEOR. 

*'Then,  Beatrice,"  observed  Magnus,  "you  doom 
yourself  to  a  life  of  misery,  and  me  to  despair  and 
death." 

"  Say  not  so,"  replied  Beatrice.  "  When  heaven 
places  us  in  such  circumstances  that  we  have  to  choose 
between  the  indulgence  of  our  affections  and  the  perform- 
ance of  our  duties,  and  that  we  sacrifice  the  former  to 
fulfil  the  latter,  be  well  assured  that  there  is  not  a  pang 
forgotten,  nor  a  sigh  unrecorded,  and  that  the  time  will 
come,  though  it  may  not  be  in  this  world,  when  our  re- 
ward will  surpass  all  that  human  fancy  can  imagine  of 
bliss,  and  peace,  and  joy.  But  if  we  fail  in  that  trial  — 
if  we  violate  our  duties  to  gratify  our  passions,  even  in 
the  moment  of  their  gratification,  conscience  will  rise 
with  the  face  of  a  demon,  and  strew  every  step  we  take 
with  sharp  and  rankling  thorns.  There  can  be  no  peace 
for  the  sinner  in  this  world ;  and  there  would  be  no 
peace  for  me,  if  I  repaid  your  affection  by  becoming 
your  infamous  wife  —  for  I  am  infamous  —  I  am  the 
child  of  sacrilege  —  the  offspring  of  violated  vows.  As 
your  wife,  that  would  be  my  thought  by  day,  and  my 
dreams  by  night ;  and  though  my  beloved  was  by  my 
side,  yet  my  marriage  with  you  —  because  it  was  with 
you — would  be  a  hell  even  on  this  earth." 

"  But  what  have  you  to  do  with  the  dishonor  of  your 
father  ?  "  asked  Magnus,  again  recurring  to  the  same  point 
on  which  he  felt  he  was  most  strong  ;  "  or  what  have  /to 
do  with  it,  that  I  cannot  choose  her  that  I  know  to  be 
the  best  and  fairest  of  her  sex  as  my  wife  ?  " 

"  Alas  !  your  questions  are  easily  answered,"  replied 
Beatrice.  "  I  have  to  do  with  the  dishonor  of  my  father 
—  say,  rather  the  sacrilegious  violation  of  his  vows  — 
for  the  highest  authority  has  told  us  that  the  sins  of  the 


THE  FAREWELL.  459 

father  shall  be  visited  on  the  children.  I  must  pay  the 
penalty  of  his  sin  —  an  easy  penalty,  because  in  perform- 
ing my  duty  I  may  win  heaven  for  myself.  And  you, 
Magnus,  have  to  do  with  it ;  for  it  stands  as  a  barrier  in 
the  way  of  the  indulgence  of  your  true,  pure,  and  vir- 
tuous love.  It  shows  that  the  same  duty  which  your 
ancestors  discharged  towards  you,  you  now  must  perform 
towards  those  who  in  time  must  succeed  to  your  name 
and  title  ;  that  as  your  ancestors  have  given  you  a  name 
free  from  the  slightest  tinge  of  dishonor,  so  no  infamy, 
no  connection  with  a  sacrilegious  family,  shall  be  as  a  re- 
proach to  you,  and  those  who  descend  from  you.  Thus 
have  we  both  to  do  with  my  father's  sin.  It  separates 
us  forever  from  each  other  in  this  world  ;  but  doing  so, 
and  willingly  submitting  to  it,  as  our  great  trial  in  this 
life,  it  may  be  the  means  of  uniting  us  forever  in  that 
world,  where  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling,  and  the 
weary  can  at  least  find  repose.  Magnus,  dear  Magnus, 
I  reject  your  proposal  of  marriage  ;  for  I  never,  so  help 
me  heaven,  will  become  your  wife.  The  word  is  now 
spoken  —  the  vow  is  made.  It  is  my  first  vow  of  vir- 
ginity ;  I  have  spoken  it  before  my  betrothed ;  it  shall 
be  but  repeated  before  a  bishop.  God  grant  me  strength 
to  keep  it." 

"  Amen  !  —  amen  !  —  amen  !  "  repeated  Magnus,  as  he 
looked  gloomily  upon  the  earth,  "  and  God  grant  me  my 
senses  to  bear  it  with  patience,  for  I  feel  that  life  is  loath- 
some to  me,  and  I  long  for  death." 

"Magnus,"  said  Beatrice,  clasping  one  of  his  hands 

in  both  of  hers,  and  raising  it  to  her  lips  and  kissing  it. 

Magnus  started ;  but  even  this  unwonted  action  did  not 

fully  rouse  him  from  the  stupor  into  which  he  had  fallen. 

*  Dearest  Magnus,"  continued  Beatrice,  "  listen  to  me. 


460  THE   POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

In  refusing  to  become  your  wife,  I  have  voluntarily  cast 
away  from  me  that  which  would,  have  been  my  greatest, 
and  could  have  been  my  only  happiness  in  this  life.  Not 
married  to  you,  what  is  there  in  this  earth  can  afford 
solace,  comfort,  or  consolation  ?  Not  my  mother  —  for 
alas !  she  regards  herself  as  the  only  one  of  her  name 
that  ever  was  degraded  ;  and  in  her  sorrow  there  is  re- 
morse, for  this  degradation  has  fallen  on  her  because 
she  disobeyed  the  command  of  her  father.  In  you,  then, 
I  see  all  that  my  imagination  can  suggest,  and  all  that 
my  conviction  can  prove  to  me  of  human  perfection. 
And  yet  I  have  torn  every  thought  of  you  out  of  my 
breast  as  my  husband.  I  did  this  because  it  was  my 
duty.  But,  in  doing  so,  I  have  riven,  I  feel,  the  very 
fibres  of  my  own  heart.  To  me  there  is  nought  else  left 
in  this  world  but  my  cell  to  repose  in,  and  the  chapel  to 
pray  in.  In  both  places  your  vision  will  often  appear  — 
as  when  you  were  a  boy,  and  when  I  saw  you  beneath 
the  beech  tree,  and  as  you  are  now  this  moment  before 
me.  O,  Magnus  !  do  your  duty  in  this  world  —  worthily 
occupy  the  position  in  which  God  has  placed  you ;  use 
your  power  for  good  —  be  the  foe  of  the  tyrant,  and  the 
friend  of  the  oppressed ;  let  your  ample  riches  gladden 
the  hearts  o^  the  poor ;  be  a  champion  —  for  that  you 
can  be  —  an  illustrious  champion  in  the  cause  of  the 
church,  and,  if  need  be,  die  fighting  in  defence  of 
the  Cross.  And  then,  even  in  my  lone  cell,  my  visions 
Avill  bring  to  me  bliss,  and  my  prayers  for  you  will  carry 
consolation  —  the  consolation  that  they  have  been  heard, 
and  that  angels  have  descended  from  heaven  to  guide  you 
in  your  path,  and  to  protect  you  from  the  worst  of  dan- 
gers—  mortal  sin." 

"  Alas !  Beatrice,"  said  Magnus,  "  I  lack  your  zeal,  for 


THE   FAREWELL.  461 

I  have  not,  and  I  now  feel  It  in  my  despair,  your  perfect 
purity  of  heart.  I  can  but  pray  that  I  may  yet  one  day 
prove  that  I  was  worthy  to  be  your  husband,  had  heaven 
so  willed  that  you  could  conscientiously  have  accepted  me.'* 

"  Pray,  Magnus,"  continued  Beatrice,  "  and  your  prayer 
will  assuredly  be  heard.  And  as  you  pray,  look  upon 
this  cross.  Accept  it,  my  beloved,  as  the  last  worldly 
gift  of  one  who  has  ever  thought  of  you  with  affection, 
and  whose  last  words  will  be,  God  and  Magnus." 

As  Beatrice  spoke  these  words,  she  unfastened  from 
her  bosom  the  cross  of  brilliants  bestowed  upon  her  by 
the  empress,  and  placed  it  in  the  hand  of  Magnus. 

"  When  I  die,"  said  Magnus,  "  this  cross  will  be 
found  resting  upon  my  heart.  I  accept  it,  Beatrice,  upon 
one  condition  —  it  is  one  that  you  cannot  refuse  acced- 
ing to  —  it  is,  that  into  whatever  convent  you  may  enter, 
I  shall  have  permission  to  endow  it  with  my  estate  at  the 
Lago  Maggiore,  where  we  first  met,  in  order  that  you 
may  apply  the  revenues,  whilst  you  live,  to  svich  chari- 
table objects  as  you  think  proper,  and  with  power,  when 
dying,  to  allocate  them  for  such  pious  intentions  as  you 
may  desire  to  have  fulfilled." 

"  I  accept  the  ofier,"  answered  Beatrice.  "  I  shall 
regai'd  the  gift  as  coming  from  my  spouse  on  earth,  and 
I  shall  transfer  it  to  my  spouse  in  heaven.  And  now, 
beloved  Magnus,  let  us  part,  as  we  met,  in  love  and  in 
peace.  I  hear  the  impatient  tramping  of  the  horses'  feet 
outside.  The  buzz  that  reaches  us  comes  from  the  reti- 
nue of  the  empress,  awaiting  to  escort  her  to  Rome,  not 
as  an  empress,  but  as  a  nun.  The  empress  alone  knew 
my  intentions,  and  now  awaits  me.  For  the  last  time 
on  this  earth,  then,  farewell.  We  cannot  be  as  husband 
and  Avife ;  let  us  be  as  brother  and  sister." 
39* 


462         THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

As  Beatrice  spoke  these  words,  she  held  up  her  fair 
forehead,  and  the  cold  lips  of  Magnus  quivered  as  they 
touched  it.  Beatrice  flung  her  arms  around  his  neck, 
and  kissing  him  upon  both  cheeks,  rushed  from  the 
room.  Her  utterance  failed  her  —  she  could  not  say  — 
"  farewell ! " 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

THE    CONCLUSION. 

The  winter  season  had  arrived.  Cold,  gusty  winds 
rughed  through  the  leafless  trees,  and  along  the  banks 
of  the  Rhine,  speeding  upon  their  course,  as  they  hur- 
ried away,  large  masses  of  ice,  v/hich  clashed  together, 
coalesced  for  a  moment,  and  then  again  were  riven  asun- 
der as  they  were  borne  off  by  the  rapid  current  towards 
the  sea.  These  huge  lumps  of  drifting  ice  were  watched, 
with  an  earnest  eye,  by  a  man  thickly  clothed  in  furs, 
who  stood  upon  a  rampart  overhanging  the  Rhine,  and 
who  turned  his  gaze,  from  time  to  time,  away  from  them, 
towards  the  opposite  side  of  the  river,  where  there  had 
been  erected  a  fortification  like  that  on  which  he  stood. 

The  man  who  so  watched,  was  Henry,  the  deposed 
King  of  Germany.  All  semblance  of  the  former  state 
with  which  he  used  to  be  surrounded  had  utterly  van- 
ished. He  was  alone,  without  a  single  attendant — and 
near  him  were  but  a  few  men,  with  helmets  and  pikes, 
who  were  discharging  their  duty  as  sentinels.  They 
were  hungry,  care-worn,  and  desperate-looking  ruflians 
—  in  whose  eyes,  when  they  rested  upon  the  king,  was 


THE  conclusion;  4G3 

discernible  not  one  sinu:le  srlance  of  attachment  or  re- 
spect.  Had  Henry  been  Avithout  his  sword,  which  he 
carried,  not  in  his  belt,  but  in  his  right  hand  —  as  if  he 
would  have  it  prepared  for  immediate  use,  then  these 
sentinels  might  have  been  regarded  as  soldiers  guarding 
a  prisoner,  and  not  subordinates  under  the  command  of 
him,  who  now  looked  v/ith  such  uneasy  glances  upon  the 
waters  and  the  opposite  bank  of  the  Rhine. 

'^  Curses  upon  it,"  exclaimed  Henry,  "  if  this  intense 
cold  continues  but  three  days  longer,  the  Rhine  will  be 
covered  with  one  solid  mass  of  ice.  Even  as  it  is,  and 
despite  the  strong  wind,  I  can  see  it  knitting  together. 
Let  it  but  stop  for  an  hour,  and  a  hurricane  would  not 
disperse  it.  The  ice  once  formed,  I  must  abandon  this 
position,  or  I  must  wait  to  see  the  whole  army  of  the 
confederate  princes  pour  down  upon  me  —  surround  me 
on  all  sides,  and  then "  he  smiled  with  grim  de- 
spair as  he  spoke  these  words,  and  clasped  his  sword  to 
his  breast ;  "  then  this  will  be  the  last  resource  !  I  shall 
never  stand  a  living  man,  and  a  captive,  before  Otho  of 
Bavaria  and  the  Bishop  of  Halberstadt,  who  have  knelt 
as  suppliants  at  my  feet,  and  —  who  were  not  forgiven." 

The  sad  course  of  his  desperate  thoughts  was  here 
interrupted  by  perceiving  that  there  came,  floating  down, 
towards  the  fortification  from  which  he  looked,  a  small 
boat,  in  which  there  were  but  two  passengers,  a  man  and 
a  woman.  As  the  boat  approached,  it  was  manifest  to 
Henry  that  a  great  danger  was  incurred  by  it,  it  being 
formed  of  such  frail  materials  that  it  seemed  difficult  to 
guide  it,  in  a  certain  course,  through  the  impetuous  cur- 
rent, and,  at  the  same  time,  avoid  its  coming  in  con- 
tact with  the  huge  and  jagged  pieces  of  ice,  that  tumbled 
down  the  stream. 


464  THE  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

"  It  is  Bertha !  "  he  said,  "  my  poor,  weak,  \rilling, 
devoted,  but  disagreeable  instrument,  Bertha.  She  perils 
life,  even  now,  to  serve  me,  and  yet  I  cannot  love  her. 
Poor  Bertha !  she  is  faithful  and  true,  but  she  is  so  — 
O,  the  boat  must  be  swamped  by  that  iceberg  that 
topples  over  it.  There !  no,  she  has  escaped !  She  will 
tell  me,  I  warrant,  that  it  is  the  intercession  of  a  saint 
has  saved  her.  Poor  Bertha !  I  wish  I  had  her  piety,  or 
that  she  had  more  beauty !  I  might,  in  either  case, 
make  a  better  husband.  But  see  !  she  rises  in  the  boat. 
She  recognizes  me,  and  despite  her  danger,  she  stands  up 
to  give  the  signals  we  agreed  upon.  See,  she  clinches 
her  right  hand.  It  is  well;  she  has  succeeded  in  mak- 
ing the  inquiries  I  desired.  She  now  raises  her  left 
hand.  It  tells  me  that  I  have  no  friends  amongst  the  con- 
federate princes.  And  what  ?  both  her  hands  are  now 
uplifted.  They  announce  that  my  affairs  are  in  a  des- 
perate condition.  Curses  on  her !  Is  this  the  skill  of 
which  she  boasted  ?  The  worst  of  news  !  There  is  no 
time  to  be  lost  in  learning  it.  I  must  hasten  to  meet 
her  at  the  landing-place.  The  idiot  wife  will  regard  it 
as  a  mark  of  affection  for  her,  and  so  deem  herself  re- 
warded for  all  the  danger  she  has  incurred.  She  is  my 
sole  chance  of  safety  now,  and  I  must,  to  the  last,  play 
the  hypocrite." 

Henry,  as  he  spoke  these  words,  sprang  from  the  for- 
tification down  to  the  spot  on  which  the  boat  was  then 
touching,  and  stepping  knee  deep  into  the  waters,  he 
clasped  his  arms  around  Bertha,  and  carried  her,  as  if 
she  had  been  a  baby,  up  to  the  walls  of  the  fortress,  and 
as  he  bore  her,  said  — 

"  Say  to  me  one  word.  Bertha — what  is  the  pm-port 
of  your  intelligence  ?  " 


THE   CONCLUSION.  465 

"Not  here,  my  dear  husband,"  answered  Bertha. 
"  "What  I  have  to  say  to  you  can  alone  be  told  where 
there  is  no  chance  of  our  being  overheard.  When  I 
tell  you  all  you  will  praise  me  for  my  prudence  in  being 
now  silent." 

Henry  set  her  down  upon  the  earth,  not  rudely,  but 
still,  though  he  spoke  not,  there  were  impatience  and  anger 
manifested  by  the  suddenness  of  the  movement ;  and 
there  was  scorn  in  the  words  with  which  he  replied  — 

"  Be  it  as  you  will.  Bertha.  Since  you  became  an 
ambassador,  you  have  rendered  yourself  remarkable  by 
youv  pnide?ice  —  your  sJcill  —  and  —  your  success." 

Bertha  felt  the  sneer,  but  made  no  reply  to  it.  She 
merely  clasped  her  husband's  hand  in  her  own,  and  walked 
on  with  him  from  the  outermost  walls  of  the  fortification, 
to  the  small,  poor  habitation  in  which  they  resided  to- 
gether. 

"  My  dear  husband,"  said  Bertha,  when  they  were 
quite  alone,  "  I  know  that  you  are  vexed  with  me  be- 
cause I  would  not  speak  one  word  of  what  I  had  ascer- 
tained on  the  other  side  of  the  Rhine.  I  have  heavy 
and  sad  news  to  tell  you  ;  but  let  it  be  not  rendered 
more  doleful  by  the  supposition  that  your  wife,  Bertha, 
is  not  willing  to  do  every  thing  that  can  tend  to  the  pro- 
motion of  your  happiness.  I  did  not  wish  to  speak  to 
you,  as  long  as  there  was  the  slightest  chance  of  our 
being  overheard  ;  and  the  reason  I  did  not  wish  to  do 
so  was  this  -^  that  there  is  not  a  soldier  in  your  fortifi- 
cation that  is  not  a  traitor  —  that  all  have  been,  and  are, 
at  this  moment,  voluntarily  spies  upon  your  conduct ; 
and  it  is  not  their  fault  that  you  are  not  bound,  hand 
and  foot,  a  prisoner  at  this  moment,  in  the  encampment 
of  the  confederate  princes." 


466  THE  POPE  AND   THE  EMPEROR. 

"  I  suspected,  from  the  looks  of  many  of  tlie  soldiers," 
said  Henry >  *'  evil  intentions  towards  me  —  that  is,  a 
revolt,  or  a  desertion  —  but  not  the  project  of  betraying 
me.  There  is  not  a  knave  amongst  them  that  I  have 
not  fed,  for  years,  with  the  spoils  of  the  Saxons.  But 
are  you  sure  they  are  all  traitors  ?  " 

"  With  the  exception  of  the  man  who  was  my  com- 
panion in  that  perilous  voyage  over  the  Ehine,  at  such  a 
time  as  this,"  replied  Bertha,  "  I  am  sure  they  are  all 
traitors.  Had  the  offer  they  made,  of  betraying  you, 
been  tendered  to  any  other  than  a  gallant  enemy,  like 
Count  Dedi,  you  would  have  been  seized  upon,  last 
night,  as  you  slept,  and  now  confined  in  a  dungeon." 

"  And  Count  Dedi,  having  the  power  of  making  me 
a  prisoner,  or  putting  me  to  death,  would  not  avail  him- 
self of  the  opportunity  presented  him  !  "  said  Henry, 
in  a  tone  that  indicated  how  incredulous  he  was  as  to 
the  statement  that  Bertha  made. 

''  He  would  not,"  answered  Bertha.  "  He  said,  that 
though  he  had  strong  reason  to  suspect  that  you  were 
not  perfectly  innocent  of  the  death  of  his  son,  still,  even 
if  he  were  sure  that  you  were  guilty,  yet  he  would  not 
punish  one  act  of  treachery  by  himself  participating  in 
another  ;  that  he  no  longer  regarded  you  as  a  king,  but 
as  an  enemy,  and  that,  as  an  enemy,  he  would  strike  you 
down  if  he  encountered  you  in  the  field  of  battle  ;  but 
he  would  not  degrade  himself  by  rewarding  traitors  for 
failing  in  the  duty  they  owed  to  you.  This  was  his  an- 
swer to  your  soldiers.  Be  assured,  the  offer  they  made 
to  him  they  will  make  to  others,  and  you  cannot  calcu- 
late upon  finding  many  like  to  Count  Dedi  on  the  other 
side  of  the  Ilhiuc." 

"  I  am  convinced  I  cannot  do  so.     But  what  news  of 


THE   CONCLUSION.  467 

the  confederate  priuccs  and  prelates.  Is  it  possible  tliat 
I  have  not  one  friend  left  amongst  them  ?  What,  for 
instance,  says  Count  Rutger  ?  "  asked  Henry. 

"  Count  Rutger  is  dead,"  replied  Bertha.  "  He  has 
been  accidentally  slain,  by  falling  from  his  horse,  the 
point  of  Attila's  sword  having,  as  he  fell,  entered  his 
side  ;  and  the  superstitious  common  people  regard  it 
as  a  judgment  from  heaven  upon  him  :  because,  they 
say,  that  sword,  which  had  been  filched  from  Otho,  was 
bestowed  by  Egen,  as  a  bribe  to  Rutger,  to  become  com- 
purgator for  him,  in  Egen's  false  charge  against  the 
Duke  of  Bavaria." 

"  This  is  a  strange  —  a  very  strange  accident,"  said 
Henry,  musing.  "  The  handsome  Count  Rutger  dead  ! 
he  that  I  loved  so  much  !  that  M^as  a  sharer  in  all  my 
feasts,  and  a  partner  in  all  my  pleasures  —  and  he  is 
dead  !     Alas  !  I  have  lost  in  him  a  sure  friend." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  observed  Bertha,  "  he  was  your 
most  inveterate  foe.  I  saw  myself,  tliat  he  endeavored 
to  excite  my  hatred  against  you,  by  saying  that  you 
wanted  him  to  become  my  lover  —  my  unlawful  lover 
in  the  first  instance,  and  then  that  you  had  promised, 
as  he  said,  to  get  rid  of  me,  and  give  me  to  him  as  a 
■wife." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear.  Bertha,  that  he  is  dead,"  said 
Henry,  "  for  he  was  a  foul  slanderer  to  invent  such 
falsehoods  respecting  me.  Let  us  think  of  him  no  more. 
What  say  you  of  the  anti-papal  prelates  ?  " 

"  All  who  were  disposed  to  be  your  friends,"  replied 
Bertha,  "  are  now  powerless  —  they  have  been  stricken 
with  excommunication  by  Pope  Gregory  —  Robert  of 
Bamberg,  Otho  of  Ratisbonne,  Otho  of  Constance,  and 
Bui-card  of  Lausanne,  having  been  so  excommunicated. 


4G8  THE  POPE  AND   THE  EMPEROR; 

are  no"W  gone  a  pilgrimage  to  Eome,  in  the  hope  they 
may  obtain  the  forgiveness  of  his  holiness.  The  conse- 
quence is,  that  amongst  the  confederate  princes  you  have 
not  one  friend — not  one.  All  are  your  enemies,  and 
in  the  diet  which  has  now  been  held " 

"  A  diet !  "  exclaimed  Henry,  terrified.  "  Is  it  possi- 
ble that  they  have  attempted  to  hold  a  diet  without  me  ?  " 

"  Alas !  my  dear  husband,"  said  Bertha,  "  they  have 
dared  to  do  much  worse  than  hold  a  diet  in  your  absence. 
In  consequence  of  a  letter  addressed  by  Kodolph,  Duke 
of  Swabia;  Guelp,  Duke  of  Bavaria;  Berthold,  Duke 
of  Carinthia ;  Adalberon,  Bishop  of  Wurtzburg ;  and 
Adalbert,  Bishop  of  Worms,  a  diet  has  been  held  at 
Tribur.  At  that  diet,  Sigefiid  of  Mayence,  who  has  re- 
turned from  Kome,  appeared  —  and  there  too  came  the 
Papal  Legates,  Sicard,  Patriarch  of  Aquilea,  and  Altman, 
Bishop  of  Passau.  At  this  diet,  I  grieve  to  tell  you, 
that  you  have  been  regarded  as  a  king  already  deposed, 
and  there,  having  recapitulated  all  the  crimes  of  which 
they  say  you  have  been  guilty,  they  declared  that  the 
only  remedy  was  to  put  in  your  place  some  other  king  ; 
and  the  only  difference  between  them,  for  a  long  time, 
was  in  itself  a  proof  c^  their  unanimity ;  for  the  Swa- 
bians  desired  that  the  new  king  should  be  a  Saxon  prince, 
and  the  Saxons,  on  the  other  hand,  said  they  would  pre- 
fer a  Swabian.  A  king  would  have  been,  at  once,  elected 
in  your  place,  if  it  had  not  been  for  a  letter  addfessed 
to  the  assembled  princes  by  Pope  Gregory,  who  begged 
that  you  might  be  treated  with  mildness." 

"  You  do  indeed  amaze  me,"  cried  Henry.  "  Can  it 
be  possible  that  Hildebrand  interceded  for  me  ?  " 

**I  have  read  his  letter,"  answered  Bertha,  "and there 
is  one  passage  in  it  made  so  deep  an  impression  upon 


THE   CONCLUSION.  469 

my  mind,  that  I  am  siu-e  I  cau  rei^eat  it  from  memory. 
It  is  this  :  — 

"  *  As  we  are  not  animated  against  Hemy  by  the  pride 
of  this  world,  nor  by  any  vain  ambition ;  and  as  the  dis- 
cipline and  the  care  of  the  churches  are  the  sole  motives 
that  have  induced  us  to  act  against  him,  we  entreat  of 
you,  as  oar  brothers,  to  treat  him  with  mildness,  if  he 
sincerely  returns  to  justice  ;  and  not  with  that  strict  jus- 
tice which  would  take  away  fi-om  him  the  empire,  but 
with  that  mercy  which  blots  out  past  crimes.  Forget 
not,  I  pray  you,  the  weakness  of  human  natm-e  ;  and 
bear  in  mind  a  pious  recollection  both  of  his  father  and 
of  his  mother,  with  whom  can  be  compared  no  sovereigns 
of  our  time.'  "  * 

Henry  did  not  speak  to  Bertha  for  some  time  after  she 
repeated  these  lines  from  the  letter  of  the  pontiff.  He 
rose  from  his  seat  —  paced  the  room  two  or  three  times, 
and  then  taking  his  place  by  the  side  of  his  wife,  he  re- 
marked : 

"  It  was  very  magnanimous  in  Hildebrand  to  write 
thus  of  me.  He  that  I  thought  the  worst,  is  the  most 
generous  of  my  opponents." 

"  Bear  in  mind,"  said  Bertha,  "  the  conduct  of  Dedi." 

"I  do  —  I  do,"  rephed  Hemy,  "but  it  is  not  to  be 
compared  to  the  perfectly  Christian  conduct  of  Hilde- 
brand." 

"  That  conduct  found  an  imitator  in  the  valiant  Otho 
of  Bavaria,"  said    Bertha,   "  who,  when  there  was  an 


*  This  is  a  literal  translation  of  a  letter  addressed  by  Pope  Gregory  VII., 
to  the  princes  and  prelates  of  Germany. 

40 


470  TUB  POPE  AND  THE  EMPEROR. 

almost  mianimous  feeling  expressed  for  the  immediate 
election  of  another  king  to  supply  your  place,  obtained 
a  year's  truce  for  you,  within  which  time  an  opportunity 
will  be  afforded  to  you  of  being  restored  to  the  throne 
of  which  you  are  now  deprived." 

"  A  year's  truce !  I  pray,  good  Bertha,  explain  your 
meaning,"  said  Henry. 

"  What  the  diet  have  agreed  upon  is  this,"  replied 
Bertha  :  "  First,  that,  as  you  stand  excommunicated, 
they  will  hold  no  communication  with  you  directly  or 
indirectly  ;  next,  that  even  if  they  could,  they  would 
not  do  so,  because  you  have  so  often  broken  promises 
previously  made  that  there  is  now  no  relying  on  your 
word ;  thirdly,  that  they  will  submit  the  decision  upon 
their  complaints  against  you  to  the  Pope,  who  is,  for 
that  purpose,  invited  to  be  at  Augsburg  at  the  feast  of 
the  Purification,  and  that  the  Pope  will  then  absolve  or 
condemn  you  as  he  thinks  proper ;  fourthly,  that  if 
within  a  year  and  a  day  from  the  time  that  excommuni- 
cation was  pronounced  against  you,  absolution  be  not^ 
obtained  by  you  froin  the  Pope,  they  Avill  regard  you,  as 
deprived,  then  and  forevermore,  of  the  crown  of  Ger- 
many." 

"  And  this  ?  "  said  Henry,  with  scornful  rage,  "  is  the 
only  mercy  that  my  rebellious  subjects  will  show  me." 

"  This  and  this  only,"  replied  Bertha,  "  and  even  this 
was  with  difficulty  obtained  by  Otho  of  Bavaria,  who 
declared  that  now  you  are  deprived  of  such  evil  coun- 
sellors as  Rome-hating  Croft,  Count  Werenher,  Lieman, 
and  others,  you  might  be  induced  to  govern  Germany 
well  and  wisely." 

"  Good  Otho  !  "  observed  Henry,  with  a  sneer,  "  the 
time,  perchance,  may  come  when  I  shall  have  the  oppor- 


THE   CONCLUSION.  471 

tunity  of  proving  wlictlier  lie  proplicsied  truly  or  not 
respecting  nie." 

"  From  the  private  soldier  to  tlie  highest  prince  in 
that  immense  army  that  is  now  confederated  against 
you,"  remarked  Bertha,  *'  there  is  but  one  sentiment 
'expressed,  namely,  that  they  never  again  -svill  submit  to 
see  in  your  hands  such  absolute  power  as  you  hitherto 
have  exercised,  and  which  was  a  temptation  to  you  to 
become  a  tyrant,  and  to  deprive  the  nobles  of  their  priv- 
ileges and  the  people  of  their  freedom." 

"  What !  Bertha,"  said  Henry,  "  have  you,  too,  in  the 
camp  of  the  rebels,  learned  to  speak  the  language  of 
traitors  ?  " 

"  0,  my  beloved  husband  !  "  said  the  gentle  Bertha, 
*'  it  is  better  that  the  truth  be  whispered  in  your  ear  by 
a  loving  wife,  than  that  it  should  be  repeated  by  a  foe, 
who  holds  a  sword,  when  you  have  no  shield  to  protect 
your  heart.  Consider,  dearest  Henry,  the  position  in 
which  you  are  at  this  moment  —  surrounded  by  traitors, 
who  are  ready  to  sell  your  blood  —  assailed  by  indignant 
subjects,  who  are  determined  upon  your  degradation  now 
—  for  they  insist,  that,  abiding  the  reconciliation  with 
the  Pope,  you  shall  be  treated  as  a  private  individual  — 
and  resolved  upon  your  ultimate  deposition  in  case  the 
year  should  pass  away,  and  you  still  remain  an  excom- 
municated man.  Consider  all  this,  Henry,  and  then  re- 
flect there  is  but  one  path  of  safety  for  you." 

"  And  what  is  that  ?  "  asked  Henry. 

"It  is,  without  a  moment's  delay,  to  fly  from  this 
place  —  to  betake  yourself  with  me  to  Italy ;  we  can 
travel  as  pilgrims  —  to  see  the  Pope  —  he  is  a  generous, 
kindly,  tender-hearted  old  man  —  to  seek  a  reconciliation 
with  him.     Ask  it,  and  you  will  be  sure  to  obtain  it." 


472  THE  POPE  AND   THE  EMPEROR. 

Such  was  the  advice  of  Bertha  to  her  husband. 

Henry  listened  to  the  words  of  Bertha.  They  seemed 
to  produce  a  deep  impression  upon  his  mind ;  for  fold- 
ing his  arms,  and  casting  himself  back  upon  the  couch 
on  which  he  had  been  sitting,  he  closed  his  eyes  to  all 
external  objects,  and  lay,  for  a  long  time,  pondering 
upon  the  course  he  should  pursue.  At  length  his  re- 
flections were  at  an  end,  for,  starting  up,  he  kissed  Ber- 
tha's hand,  and  said  : 

"  Excellent  adviser,  you  have  pointed  the  way  out  of 
all  my  difficulties.  It  is  but  this  day  that  I  heard  old 
Hildeb]-and  was  at  Canossa.  We  will  go  there  —  you 
disguised  as  a  pilgrim.  I  will  do  something  better  than 
that.  I  shall  make  my  appearance  before  him  with  the 
bared  head  and  the  naked  feet  of  a  penitent.  Think 
you  not  that  such  a  semblance  of  humility  by  the  proud 
King  of  Germany  will  melt  the  heart  of  Hildebrand, 
and  induce  him  to  regard  me  rather  as  a  saint  than  a 
sinner.  O,  yes  —  I  see  it  all,  I  shall  be  freed  from  the 
excommunication,  I  shall  be  restored  to  my  throne  and 
power,  and  then " 

Henry  paused  ;  for  he  feared  to  give  expression  to  the 
dark  thoughts  of  revenge  that  were  brooding  in  his  heart. 

"  And  then  ?  "  said  Bertha,  wishing  to  hear  him  de- 
clare that  he  would  amend  his  life  and  govern  justly 
hereafter. 

*'  And  then,"  continued  Henry,  "  you  shall  find  that 
my  love  and  devotion,  my  truth  and  fidelity,  will  prove 
how  grateful  I  can  be  for  the  good  advice  you  have  giv- 
en me.  And  now,  dear  Bertha,  make  what  preparations 
you  can  for  our  journey.  We  shall  proceed  on  our  road 
towards  the  Alps  in  the  morning." 

A  heavy  fall  of  snow  had  taken  place  in  the  coui'se 


THE  CONCLUSION.  473 

of  the  niglit,  but  so  intense  was  the  cold,  that  it  had 
hardened,  like  a  i-ock,  and  all  around  was  one  bleak  scene 
of  whiteness,  as  Henry  and  his  gentle  wife  stealthily 
stepped  forth  from  the  habitation  in  which  they  had  passed 
the  night,  to  encounter  all  the  perils  of  a  journey,  on 
foot,  to  Canossa,  They  had  not  advanced  two  yards 
from  the  door  until  a  horrid  spectacle  presented  itself  to 
their  view :  it  was  that  of  a  miserable  man,  eyeless  and 
noseless,  covered  with  rags,  shivering  with  cold,  and 
who,  hearing  their  steps  on  the  hard  surface  on  which 
they  trod,  cried  out,  in  a  whining  voice : 

"  Good  Christians !  whoever  you  may  be,  pity  a 
wretched  blind  man,  who  is  perishing  of  cold  and  fam- 
ished with  hunger." 

"  Merciful  heaven  !  "  exclaimed  Henry.  "  This  is 
I^gen  — my  favorite  Egen.  Who  has  dared  thus  to  treat 
him  ?     Ask  him,  Bertha." 

"  My  good  man,"  said  Bertha,  "  here  is  a  piece  of  gold 
for  you.  I  will  place  it  in  your  hand  on  condition  you 
tell  me,  truly,  who  you  are,  and  how  you  came  to  be 
deprived  of  sight. " 

"  I  am  Egen,"  the  trembling,  starving  wretch  replied. 
"  I  was,  at  one  time,  in  the  employment  of  King  Henry, 
and  having  been  the  iii-st  to  inform  him  of  the  residence 
of  a  beautiful  maiden  —  Beatrice,  of  Aschaffenbui-g  — 
and  having  afterwards  carried  her  away,  and  detained 
her  at  Erzegebirge,  for  him  —  when  that  fortress  was 
captured  by  the  grandfather  of  Beatrice,  he  deprived  me 
of  my  eyes,  because  they  had  looked  upon  Beatrice,  and 
had  been  used  for  her  betrayal  into  the  power  of  the 
wicked  King  Henry." 

"  Here,  take  the  gold,"  said  Bertha,  shuddering.  "Go, 
and,  in  your  prayers,  remember  King  Henry." 
40* 


474  THE  POPE  AND   THE   EMPESOR. 

"  Remember  him !  "  said  Egen,  as  he  groped  his  -way 
along  the  road,  "  if  I  do,  it  will  be  to  pray  for  the  per- 
dition of  him  who  has  caused  my  destruction,  and  who 
has  left  me,  as  I  am,  a  maimed  and  forlorn  mendicant." 

Henry  and  Bertha  commenced  their  fearful  journey, 
and,  in  that  journey,  they  had  but  one  companion.  Of 
all  the  Germans,  there  was  but  one  man  to  aid,  support, 
or  help  them ;  and  that  was  a  man,  remarkable  neither 
for  his  rank  nor  his  riches. 

It  was  the  same  man  who  had  rowed  Bertha  across 
the  Ehine  —  it  was  Diedrich  of  Treves. 


CD 

r^       THE  END. 

CO 

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